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C"       The . 

Surprise 


Series 


THE 

/1LE  or  CHLOE 


BY 


QEORQE  nEREDITH 


Tnt£RnaticinalBook  Co^^^N 

*  ^^^jM^\^^^^^^^^^  Place 

AIewXo.Rk,. 


No.  149. 

H&ue<l  Weekly.    Subscription  price,  $12.00  per  y<tar.     '  j ' 

June  18,  i8ni.    (.Exira.) 
iImi  SeMVoi-k  Po»T  01tt».'«»ss<Hj<md-«'lMsinft.it*r      ropriieht.  IMW, 


[RY 


MORSK  ftTEFHBlit 


For  INFANTS  and  CHILDREN 


"Castoria  is  so  well  adapted  to  chil- 
dren that  I  recommend  it  as  superior  to 
any  prescription  known  to  me." 

H.  A.  Archer,  M.D., 
III  So.  Oxford  St.,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y, 


''The  use  of  Castoria  is  so  universal 
and  its  merits  so  well  known  that  it 
seems  a  work  of  supererogation  to  en- 
dorse it.  Few  are  the  intelligent  fami^^ 
lies  who  do  not  keep  Castoria  within 
easy  reach."      Carlos  M.\rtyn,  D.D., 

New  York  City. 
Late    Pastor    Bloomingdale    Reformed 
Church. 


Castoria  cures  Colic,  Constipation, 
SourStomach,  Diarrhoea,  Eructation, 
Kills  Worms,  gives  sleep,  and  promotes 
digestion, 

Without  injurious  medication. 


"  For  several  years  I  have  recommen- 
ded your  Castoria,  and  shall  always 
continue  to  do  so  as  it  has  invariably 
produced  benefic'al  reults." 

Edwin  F.  Pardee.  M.  D., 
"The  Winthrop,"  125th  Street  and  7th 

Ave.,  New  York  City. 


The  Centaur  Co.,  77  Murray  Street,  New  York. 


CO 


UJ 

> 
o 


American  Authors',  International,   Westminster, 

American  Novelists',  Foreign,  Political  and  Scientific 

Leather    Clad,     Detective,    Occult,    Illustrated, 

Seaside  Library. 

Comprising  the  largest  collection  of  popular  works  of  Fiction, 
History  and  Literature,  both  new  and  Standard,  ever  published. 

UNITED  STATES  BOOK  COMPANY, 

PITBT.TSHKKS,        NKW  YORK. 


0) 

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0) 


JAMES  McCREERY  &  CO., 

Broadway  and  llth  St., 
New  York. 

SILKS,  SATINS,  VELVETS. 

The  assortment  of  Plain  Black  Silk  Fabrics 
alone  contains  over  275  different  iveaves  and 
^-^alities ;  of  Fancy  Blacks  there  are  about 

^  S^i|4    for    saiioples   of  quality   and   style 


STRONG    MEiN  ; 

)     THE  PRIDE  AND  POWER  OF  NATIONS ! 


Hope  for  those  who  suffer  from  Inherited  Weakness,  Overwork,  Over- 
ta.xation.  Ignorance,  Temperament,  Strains,  etc.,  causing  the  unhappy  victim  te 
be  unfit  for  business,  work,  pleasure,  or  social  or  public  duties  and  relations,  yield 
to  our  Home  Treatment.  The  majority  of  cases  readily  cured.  Cases  considered 
helpless,  almost  invariably,  permanently  cured  by  persistent  treatment  for  a  few 
months. 

Nature.  Nature  is  always  trying  to  restore,  but  requires  skillful  aid  for 
real  improvement.  Our  methods,  which  we  alone  own  and  control,  work  in  har- 
mony with  nature-  The  result  of  our  treatment,  even  in  those  much  broken 
down,  is  the  noble  vitality  of  strong  men,  the  pride  and  power  of  nations.  Com- 
pare strong,  noble  manhood  with  the  feeble,  weak,  emaciated,  pallid,  stooping, 
timid,  nervous  creature.  How  great  the  gulf  that  separates  them.  But  nature  is 
kind  and  forgiving,  and  when  assisted  by  our  home  treatment,  by  the  methods 
which  we  alone  own  and  control,  restoration  results,  if  there  is  anything  left  to 
build  upon. 

Years  of  successful  experience  in  assisting  the  restorative  and  recuperative 
powers  of  nature,  have  taught  us  that  no  one  should  despair,  and  that  few  there 
are  who  carmot  be  cured  if  taken  in  time.  Unless  you  have  reached  the  point 
from  which  there  is  no  return — where  human  aid  can  be  of  no  avail,  our  own 
exclusive  treatment  will  cure  you. 

Our  new  book,  containing  testimonials  from  2000  of  those  we  have  cured, 
whose  cases  were  critical,  also  giving  full  explanation  for  treatment,  will  for  a 
limited  time  be  sent  free,  by  mail,  to  those  who  write  for  it. 

No  experiments.  Immediate  influence  for  good  and  speedy  cure  if  your 
case  has  not  gone  too  far.  We  are  constantly  restoring  those  of  all  ages  who 
have  been  given  up.  We  have  a  right  to  solicit  confidence,  because  of  our  uni- 
form monopoly  of  success.  Many  of  those  whom  we  have  treated  think  the  cures 
effected  in  their  cases  miraculous  ;  but  it  is  not  so,  but  it  is  simply  because  we 
have  learned  nature's  secrets,  nature's  remedies,  and  work  in  full  harmony  and 
accord  with  nature.     No  detention  from  business  or  work. 

Our  treatment  reaches  the  very  fountain  head  of  the  difficulty  ;  soon  restor. 
ing  the  vital  force  and  manly  vigor  of  strong  men.  No  matter  how  long  standing 
the  trouble,  or  how  great  the  weakness,  if  there  is  anything  left  to  build  upon,  we 
can  effect  a  cure.  The  weakened  nerves,  the  strength,  the  health,  the  vitality, 
can  and  will  be  restored.  Power  takes  the  place  of  miserable  feebleness,  and  dis- 
couraged despondency  gives  way  before  the  vigor  of  new  strength  and  life. 

Men  otherwise  well,  or  fairly  well, 'who  find  their  mental  force  declining,  or 
whose  case  is  in  any  touched  upon  above,  should  write  at  once  for  our  new  book. 
Doctors,  Bankers,  Merchants,  Clergymen,  Lawj'ers,  Congressmen,  Judges,  and 
Professors,  are  constantly  among  our  patients  and  patrons. 

Hope.  You  need  not  suffer,  you  need  not  despair,  you  need  not  suffer  a 
lingering  death.  Stop  brooding,  take  heart  and  be  a  man.  We  say  this  in 
earnestness  to  all,  even  to  those  who  have  passed  middle  life,  but  more  especially 
to  the  young  and  middle  aged.  If  you  are  at  all  amenable  to  treatment,  our 
exclusive  methods  will  cure  you. 

J^^You  will  fully  understand  your  case  by  reading  our  new  book,  which 
will  be  sent  free. 

Address  all  communications  to 

ERIE   MEDICAL   COMPANY, 

64  NIAGARA  STREET,  BUFFALO,  NEW  YORK. 


LIST    OF    BOOKS 

IN  THE 

SURPRISE    SERIES. 


1  The  Shattered  Idol,  Bertha  Clay 

2  Fair  But  False,  Bertha  M.  Clay 

3  Between  Two   Sins,  and  Lady  Sil- 

verdale's  Sweetheart 

4  Bootle's  Children,  John  S.  Winter 

5  Charlotte  Temple,  Mrs.  Rowson 

6  Her  Second  Love 

7  My  Husband  and  I,  Count  Tolstoi 

8  The  False  Vow 

9  A  Broken  Heart 
ID  Paul  and  Virginia 

11  Prince  Otto,  R.  L.  Stevenson 

12  Rasselas,  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson 

13  Dr.  Rameau,  Georges  Ohnet 

14  Thorns  and  Orange  Blossoms 

15  Wife  in  Name  Only 

16  Like  No  Other  Love 

17  The  Queen's   Token,   Mrs.   Cashel 

Hoey 

18  The  Girl  from  Malta,  Fergus  Hume 

19  Mrs.  Caudle's  Curtain  Lectures 

20  Sweet  Lavender,  Arthur  W.  Pinero 

21  Which  Loved  Him  Best  ? 

22  The  Fog  Princes,  Florence  Warden 

23  Lise  Tavernier,  Daudet 

24  Camille,  Alexandre  Dumas,  Jr. 

25  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Spoopendyke 

26  Married  in  Haste 

27  A  Millionaire's  Folly, ''  Le  Jemlys  " 

28  The  Pomfret  Mystery 

29  Macon  Moore,  the  Detective 

30  Donald  Dyke,  the  Detective 

31  Clarice  Dyke,  the  Detective 

32  Nat  Foster,  the  Boston  Detective 

33  Ten  Days  with  Moody,  Moody 

36  Lady  Val worth's  Diamonds,  "  The 

Duchess" 

37  A  House  Party,  Ouida 

38  At  Bay,  Mrs.  Alexander 

39  Adventures  of  an  Old  Maid,  Bella 

C.  Greene 

40  Vice  Versa,  F.  Anstey 

41  In  Prison  and  Out,  Hesba  Stretton 

42  The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth,  Chas. 

Reade 

43  Called  Back,  Hugh  Conway 

44  Beaton's  Bargain,  Mrs.  Alexander 

45  A  Guilty  River,  Wilkie  Collins 

46  By  Woman's  Wit,  Mrs.  Alexander      \ 

47  "She,"  H.  Rider  Haggard 

48  The  Haunted  Fountain,  K.  S.  Mac- 

quoid 

49  King  Solomon's  Mines,    H.    Rider 

Haggard 

50  "Jess,"  H.  Rider  Haggard 

51  The  Merry  Men,  R.  L.  Stevenson 

52  Esther,  Rosa  Nouchettc  Carey 

53  Drops  of  Blood,  Lily  Curry 

54  Strange  Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr. 

Hyde 


55  A  Lucky  Disappointment,  Florence 

Marryat 

56  As  in  a  Looking-glass,  F.  C.  Philips 

57  The  Duchess,     The  Duchess  " 

58  A  Tale  of  Three  Lyons,   H.  Rider 

Haggard 

59  Mona's  Choice,  Mrs.  Alexander 

60  The  Pride  of  the  Paddock,  Hawley 

Smart 

61  Ralph  Wilton's  Weird,  Mrs.  Alex- 

ander 

62  A  Wicked  Girl,  Mary  Cecil  Hay 

63  Baron  Munchausen 

64  The  Octoroon,  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon 

65  The  New  Magdalen,  Wilkie  Collins 

66  The  Haunted  Chamber,  "The 

Duchess" 

67  A  Fallen  Idol,  F.  Anstey 

68  Chris,  W.  E.  Norris 

69  A  Woman'sVengeance, M.A.Holmes 

70  A  Midnight  Wedding,  M.  A.  Holmes 

71  The  Shadow  of  a  Sin,  B.  M.  Clay 

72  Love's  Warfare,  B.  M.  Clay 

73  A  Broken  Life,  Max  Cruger 

74  The  Trail  of   the    Barrow,    James 

Mooney 

76  Perdita,  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox 

77  The  Mystery  of  a  Hansom  Cab 

78  Mr.   Perkins  of    New  Jersey,  Gay 

Parker 

79  Playing  with  Fire,  Gay  Parker 

80  Colonel  Quaritch,H.  Rider  Haggard 

81  Double  Love,  Fairchild 

82  Madam  Midas,  Author  of  "Mystery 

of  a  Hansom  Cab" 

83  My.stery  of  St.  James's  Park 

84  A  Close  Call,  J.  L.  Berry 

85  One  Hundred  Prize  Dinners 

86  Adventures   of    Miss  Volney,  Ella 

Wheeler  Wilcox 

87  One  of  the  Forty,  Alphonse  Daudet 

88  Fun  and  Fact,  Chambers 

89  The  Surprise  Cook  Book,  Taylor 

90  A    Missing    Husband,    Author    of 

"  Ostler  Joe  " 

91  The  Surprise  Recitations  and  Read- 

ings.    First  Series 

92  The  Surprise  Recitations  and  Read- 

ings.    Second  Series 

93  The  Surprise    Recitations    and 

Readings.    Third  Series 

94  The  Surprise  Recitations  and  Read- 

ings.    Fourth  Series 

95  Mr.  Meeson's  Will,  H.  Rider  Hag- 

gard 
q6  Dr.     Glcnnie's     Daughter,     B.     L. 

Farjcon 
07  Maiwa's  Revenge, H. Rider  Haggard 
y3  Mystery  of  the  Holly  Tree,  C.  M. 

Braeme 


THE  SURPRISE  SERIES— Continued. 


-.3 
■4 

ro6 
107 


109 
110 
III 
112 
113 

114 

115 
J16 


117 
118 


119 
120 
121 
122 
123 


124 

125 

126 
127 
128 


129 


Miss  Bretherton,  Authorof  "Robert 

Elsmere" 
The  Window  Curtains 
Ogilvie's    Pocket    Manual,    J.    S. 

Ogilvie 
Derrick  Vaughan,  Edna  Lyall 
In  Thraldom,  Leon  Mead 
Bede's  Charity,  Hesba  Stretton 
Cleopatra,  H.  Rider  Haggard 
Fifteen  Detective  Stories,  by  Police 

Captains  of  New  York 
Roland  Oliver,  Justin  McCarthy, 

M.P. 
Flamenka,  R.  E.  Francillon 
The  Bad  Boy  at  Home,  W.  T.  Gray 
The  Bad  Boy  Abroad,  W.  T.  Gray 
The  Piccadilly  Puzzle,  F.  W.  Hume 
Marked  for  a  Victim,  Stuart  Cum- 
berland 
Good  News  Sermons,  Sam  Jones 
Just  for  Fun.     A  Comic  Book 
Her  Only  Sin,  Author  of  "  Dora 

Thorne" 
Gipsy  Blair,  the  Western  Detective 
The  Story  of   an    African  Farm, 

Ralph  Iron 
Paradise  Almost  Lost,  D.  B.  Shaw 
Secrets  of  Success,  J.  W.  Donovan 
The  People's  Etiquette  Book 
Not  Forsaken,  Agnes  Giberne 
Ned  Bachman,  the  New  Orleans 

Detective,  Allan  Dale 
A  Crimson  Stain,  Annie  Bradshaw 
Janet's  Repentance,  George  Eliot 
Old  Si's  Humorous  Sketches 
Fatima,  A.  S.  Jackman 
Master  of  Ballantrae,  Robert  Louis 

Stevenson 
Topsy  Turvy,  Jules  Verne 


30  Wobble's  Tour 

31  The  Voyage  of    the    Ark,  F.  M. 

Allen 

32  Her  Last  Throw,  "  The  Duchess" 

33  Beatrice,  H.  Rider  Haggard 

34  The     Other     Man's     Wife,    John 

Strange  Winter 

35  Idle  Thoughts  of  an  Idle  Fellow, 

Jerome  K.  Jerome 

36  Dreams,  Olive  Schreiner 

37  Black  Beauty,  Anna  Sewall 

38  An  American  Girl  in  London,  Sara 

Jeannette  Duncan 

39  A  Little  Irish  Girl,  "  The  Duchess  " 

40  Neck  or  Nothing,  Mrs.  H.  Lovett 

Cameron 

41  A  Black  Business,  Hawley  Smart 

42  The    Mystery    of    No.    13,  Helen 

Mathers 

43  Cleverly  Won,  Hawley  Smart 

44  Under    a    Strange    Mask,   Frank 

Barrett 

45  The  Case  of  Gen.  Ople  and  Lady 

Camper.    George  Meredith 

46  Galloping    Days  at  the  Deanery, 

Charles  James 

47  A  Laggard  in  Love,  Jeanie  Gwynne 

Bettany 

148  A  Bride  From  the  Bush,  A  New 

Writer 

149  The  Tale  of  Chloe,  Geo.  Meredith 

150  Under  the  Deodars,  Kipling 

151  Merry,  Merry  Boys,  B.  L.  Farjeon 

152  Pretty  Miss  Smith,  F.  Warden 

153  A  Little  Rebel,  "  The  Duchess  " 

154  Good  Bye,  John  Strange  Winter 

155  Eric  Brighteyes,  H.  Rider  Haggard 

156  Wedded  pnd  Parted,  "The  Duch- 

ess" 


June,  1891. 


BURNETT'S  COCOAINE  [ 

PROMOTES  THE  GROWTH   AND   PRESERVES  THE  BEAUTY  f?ir 
THE    HUMAN    HAIR. 


A  Componnd  of  Coeoannt  Oil  possessing  the  peculiar  properties  which,  exactllr 
salt  the  Tarious  conditions  of  the  haiuau  hair. 

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affords  the  richest  lustre.     It  remains  longest  in  effect.     It  ;pre- 
j  vents  the  Jiair  from  falling  off .  It  promotes  its  healthy  ^ 

vigorous  growth.    It  is  not  greasy  or  sticky. 
It  leaves  no  disagreeable  odor. 


For  Sale  by  all  Druggists  In  two  sizes,  $1.00  and  50  cents. 

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I  consider  BROMG- 
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C.  S.  MOSHER,  Balto. 


BY  TAKING 


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ONE  POUND  A  DAY. 

A  GAIN  OF  A  POUND  A  DAY  IN  THE  CASE  OF  A 
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OF  PURE  OOD  L.IVER  OIL.  WITH  Hypophosphitea; 

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AND  IMITATIONS. 


'^ 


A 


THE  TALE  OF  CHLOE. 


/ 

CHAPTER  I. 
A  PROPER  tenderness  for  the  Peerage  will 
continue  to  pass  current  the  illustrious  gentle- 
man who  was  inflamed  by  Cupid^s  darts  to  es- 
pouse the  milk-maid  or  dairy-maid  under  his 
ballad  title  of  Duke  of  Dewlap;  nor  was  it  the 
smallest  of  the  services  rendered  him  by  Beau 
Beamish  that  he  clapped  the  name  upon  her 
rustic  grace,  the  young  duchess,  the  very  first 
day  of  her  arrival  at  the  VTells.  This  happy 
inspiration  of  a  wit  never  failing  at  a  pinch 
has  rescued  one  of  our  princeliest  houses  from 
the  assaults  of  the  vulgar,  who  are  ever  too 
rejoiced  to  bespatter  and  disfigure  a  brilliant 
coat  of  arms,  insomuch  that  the  ballad  to 
which  we  are  indebted  for  the  narrative  of  the 
meeting  and  marriage  of  the  ducal  pair,  speaks 
of  Dewlap  in  good  faith: 


^Pi 


•  •    •  •  ,  ♦  • 

•  •    •  •/  •  , 

•        •   •      •      • 


6  The  Tale  of  Cliloe. 

O  the  ninth  Duke  of  Dewlap  I  am, 

Susie  dear!  without  a  hint  of  a  domino  title. 

So  likewise  the  pictorial  historian  is  merry 
over  "  Dewlap  alliances ''  in  his  description 
of  the  society  of  that  period.  He  has  read  the 
ballad,  but  disregarded  the  memoirs  of  the 
Beau.  Writers  of  pretension  would  seem  to 
have  an  animus  against  individuals  of  the 
character  of  Mr.  Beamish.  They  will  treat  of 
the  habits  and  manners  of  highwaymen,  and 
quote  obscure  broadsheets  and  songs  of  the 
people  to  color  their  story,  yet  decline  to  be- 
stow more  than  a  passing  remark  upon  our 
domestic  kings — because  they  are  not  heredi- 
tary, we  may  suppose. 

The  ballad  of  "  The  Duke  and  the  Dairy- 
maid,'' ascribed  with  questionable  authority 
to  the  pen  of  Mr.  Beamish  himself  in  a  freak 
of  his  gayety,  was  once  popular  enough  to 
provoke  the  moralist  to  animadversions  upon 
an  order  of  composition  that  **  tempted  every 
bouncing  country  lass  to  sidle  an  eye  in  a 
blowsy  cheek ''  in  expectation  of  a  coronet  for 


The  Tale  of  Cliloe.  7 

her  pains — and  a  wet  ditch  as  the  result!  We 
may  doubt  it  to  have  been  such  an  occasion  of 
mischief.  But  that  mischief  may  have  been 
done  by  it  to  a  nobility-loving  people,  even  to 
the  love  of  our  nobility  among  the  people, 
must  be  granted;  and.  for  the  particular  rea- 
son that  the  hero  of  the  ballad  behaved  so 
handsomely.  We  perceive  a  susceptibility  to 
adulteration  in  their  worship  at  the  sight  of 
one  of  their  number,  a  young  maid,  suddenly 
snatched  up  to  the  gaping  heights  of  luxury 
and  fashion  through  sheer  good  looks.  Re- 
membering that  they  are  accustomed  to  a 
totally  reverse  effect  from  that  possession,  it  is 
very  perceptible  how  a  breach  in  their  rever- 
ence may  come  of  the  change. 

Otherwise  the  ballad,  is  innocent;  certainly 
it  is  innocent  in  design.  A  fresher  national 
song  of  a  beautiful  incident  of  our  country 
life  has  never  been  written.  The  sentiments 
are  natural,  the  imagery  is  apt  and  redolent 
of  the  soil,  the  music  of  the  verse  appeals  to 
the  dullest  ear.     It  has  no  smell  of  the  lamp. 


8  The  Tale  of  Cliloe. 

nothing  foreign  and  far-fetched  about  it,  but 
is  just  what  it  pretends  to  be — the  carol  of  the 
native  bird.  A  sample  will  show,  for  the  bal- 
lad is  much  too  long  to  be  given  entire: 

Sweet  Susie,  slie  tripped  on  a  shiny  May  morn, 
As  blithe  as  the  lark  from  the  green-springing  corn. 
When,  hard  by  a  stile,  'twas  her  luck  to  behold 
A  wonderful  gentleman  covered  with  gold. 

There  was  gold  on  his  breeches  and  gold  on  his  coat; 
His  shirt-frill  was  grand  as  a  fifty- pound  note; 
The  diamonds  glittered  all  up  him  so  bright, 
She  thought  him  the  Milky  Way  clothing  a  sprite! 

"  Fear  not,  pretty  maiden,"  he  said  with  a  smile, 
"  And  pray,  let  me  help  you  in  crossing  the  stile." 
She  bobbed  him  a  curtsey  so  lovely  and  smart, 
It  shot  like  an  arrow  and  fixed  in  his  heart. 

As  light  as  a  robin  she  hopped  to  the  stone, 
But  fast  was  her  hand  in  the  gentleman's  own; 
And  guess  how  she  stared,  nor  her  senses  could  trust. 
When  this  creamy  gentleman  knelt  in  the  dustl 

With  a  rhapsody  upon  her  beauty,  he  in- 
forms her  of  his  rank,  for  a  flourish  to  the 
proposal  of   honorable  and  immediate  mar- 


The  Tale  of  Chloe,  9 

riage.  He  can  not  wait.  This  is  the  fatal 
condition  of  his  love — apparently  a  character- 
istic of  amorous  dukes.  We  read  them  in  the 
signs  extended  to  us.  The  minds  of  these 
august  and  solitary  men  have  not  yet  been 
sounded;  they  are  too  distant.  Standing  upon 
their  lofty  pinnacles,  they  are  as  legible  to  the 
rabble  below  as  a  line  of  cuneiform  writing  in 
a  page  of  old  copy-book  roundhand.  By  their 
deeds  we  know  them,  as  heathendom  knows 
of  its  gods;  and  it  is  repeatedly  on  record  that 
the  moment  they  have  taken  fire  they  must 
wed,  though  the  lady's  finger  be  circled  with 
nothing  closer  fitting  than  a  ring  of  the  bed- 
curtain.  Vainly,  as  becomes  a  candid  coun- 
try lass,  blue-eyed  Susan  tells  him  that  she  is 
but  a  poor  dairy -maid.  He  has  been  a  stu- 
dent of  women  at  courts,  in  which  furnace  the 
sex  becomes  a  transparency,  so  he  recounts  to 
her  tlie  catalogue  of  material  advantages  he 
has  to  offer.  Finally  after  his  assurances  that 
she  is  to  be  married  by  the  parson,  really  by 
the  parson,  and  a  real  parson : 


10  The  Tale  of  Cliloe, 

Sweet  Susie  is  off  for  her  parents'  consent, 
And  long  must  the  old  folk  debate  what  it  meant. 
She  left  them  the  eve  of  that  happy  May  morn, 
To  shine  like  the  blossom  that  hangs  from  the  thorn! 

Apart  from  its  historical  value  the  ballad 
is  an  example  to  poets  of  our  day,  who 
fly  to  mythological  Greece,  or  a  fanciful  and 
morbid  mediaBvalism,  or — save  the  mark! — 
abstract  ideas  for  themes  of  song,  of  what  may 
be  done  to  make  our  English  life  poetically 
interesting  if  they  would  but  pluck  the  treas- 
ures presented  them  by  the  wayside;  and  nat- 
ure being  now  as  then  the  passport  to  popu- 
larity, they  have  themselves  to  thank  for  their 
little  hold  on  the  hearts  of  the  people.  A  liv- 
ing native  duke  is  worth  fifty  Phoebus  Apollos 
to  Englishmen,  and  a  buxom  young  lass  of  the 
fields  mounting  from  a  pair  of  pails  to  the 
estate  of  duchess,  a  more  romantic  object  than 
troops  of  your  visionary  Yseultc  and  Guine- 
veres. 


The  Tale  of  Chloe,  11 

CHAPTER  11. 

A  CERTAIN"  time  after  the  marriage,  his 
grace  alighted  at  the  Wells,  and  did  himself 
the  honor  to  call  on  Mr.  Beamish.  Address- 
ing that  gentleman,  to  whom  he  was  no  stran- 
ger, he  communicated  the  purport  of  his  visit. 

*'  Sir,  and  my  very  good  friend, ''  he  said, 
*'  first  let  me  beg  you  to  abate  th©  severity  of 
your  countenance,  for  if  I  am  here  in  breach 
of  your  prohibition,  I  shall  presently  depart  in 
compliance  with  it.  I  could  indeed  deplore 
the  loss  of  the  passion  for  play  of  which  you 
effectually  cured  me.  I  was  then  armed 
against  a  cruder,  that  allows  of  no  interval 
for  a  man  to  make  his  vow  to  recover  I'* 

*' The  disease  which  is  all  crisis,  1  appre- 
hend,'^  Mr.  Beamish  remarked. 

"Which,  sir,  when  it  takes  hold  of  dry 
wood,  burns  to  the  last  splinter.  It  is  now  " 
— the  duke  fetched  a  tender  groan — *'  three 
years  ago  that  1  had  a  caprice  to  marry  a 
grandchild!^' 


12  The  Tale  of  Cliloe. 

'*  Of  Adam's/^  Mr.  Beamish  said,  cheer- 
fully. "  There  was  no  legitimate  bar  to  the 
union. " 

"  Unhappily,  none.  Yet  you  are  not  to 
suppose  I  regret  it.  A  most  admirable  creat- 
ure, Mr.  Beamish,  a  real  divinity!  And  the 
better  known,  the  more  adored.  There  is  the 
misfortune.  At  my  season  of  life,  when  the 
greater  and  the  minor  organs  are  in  a  con- 
spiracy to  tell  me  I  am  mortal,  the  passion  of 
love  must  be  welcomed  as  a  calamity,  though 
one  would  not  be  free  of  it  for  the  renewal  of 
youth.  You  are  to  understand  that,  with  a 
little  awakening  taste  for  dissipation,  she  is 
the  most  innocent  of  angels.  Hitherto  we 
have  lived  ...  To  her  it  has  been  a  new  world. 
But  she  is  beginning  to  find  it  a  narrow  one. 
No,  no,  she  is  not  tired  of  my  society.  Very 
far  from  that.  But  in  her  present  station  an 
inclination  for  such  gatherings  as  you  have 
here,  for  example,  is  like  a  desire  to  take  the 
air:  and  the  healthy  habits  of  my  duchess 
have  not  accustomed   her   to    be   immured. 


The  Tale  of  Cliloe.  13 

And,  in  fine,  devote  ourselves  as  we  will,  a 
term  approaches  when  the  enthusiasm  for 
serving  as  your  wife^s  playfellow  all  day,  run- 
ning round  tables  and  flying  along  corridors 
before  a  knotted  handkerchief  is  mightily  re- 
laxed. Yet  the  dread  of  a  separation  from 
her  has  kept  me  at  these  pastimes  for  a  con- 
siderable period  beyond  my  relish  of  them. 
Not  that  I  acknowledge  fatigue.  I  have,  it 
seems,  a  taste  for  reflection;  1  am  now  much 
disposed  to  read  and  meditate,  which  can  not 
be  done  without  repose.  1  settle  myself,  and 
1  receive  a  worsted  ball  in  my  face,  and  I  am 
expected  to  return  it.  I  comply;  and  then 
you  would  say  a  nursery  in  arms.  It  would 
else  be  the  deplorable  spectacle  of  a  beautiful 
young  woman,  yawning." 

*'  Earthquake  and  saltpeter  threaten  us  less 
terribly,"  said  Mr.  Beamish. 

*'  In  fine,  she  has  extracted  a  promise  that 
this  summer  she  shall  visit  the  Wells  for  a 
month;  and  I  £ear  1  can  not  break  my  pledge 
of  my  word;  I  fear  I  can  not." 


14  The  Tale  of  Cliloe, 

"  Very  certainly  I  would  nofc/^  said  Mr. 
Beamish. 

The  duke  heaved  a  sigh. 

**  There  are  reasons — family  reasons — why  ^ 
my  company  and  protection  must  be  denied  to 
her  here.  I  have  no  wish — indeed  my  name, 
for  the  present,  until  such  time  as  she  shall 
have  found  her  feet — and  there  is  ever  a  pen- 
alty to  pay  for  that.  Ah,  Mr.  Beamish,  pict- 
ures are  ours  when  we  have  bought  them  and 
hung  them  up;  but  who  insures  us  possession 
of  a  beautiful  work  of  Nature?  1  have  latter- 
ly betaken  me  to  reflect  much  and  seriously. 
I  am  tempted  to  side  with  the  divines  in  the 
sermons  I  have  read;  the  flesh  is  the  habita- 
tion of  a  rebellious  devil. '' 

'*  To  whom  we  object  in  proportion  as  we 
ourselves  become  quit  of  him,''  Mr.  Beamish 
acquiesced. 

*'  But  this  mania  of  young  people  for  pleas- 
ure, eternal  pleasure,  is  one  of  the  wonders. 
It  does  not  pall  on  them;  they  are  insatiate.'* 

*'  There  is  the  cataract,  and  there  is  the 


The  Tale  of  Chloe.  15 

clijff.  Potentate  to  potentate,  duke,  so  long 
as  you  are  on  my  territory,  be  it  understood. 
Upon  my  way  to  a  place  of  worship  once,  1 
passed  a  Puritan,  who  was  complaining  of  a 
butterfly  that  fluttered  j)rettily  abroad  in  dese- 
cration of  the  day  of  rest.  *  Friend,^  said  I 
to  him,  *  conclusively  you  prove  to  me  that 
you  are  not  a  butterfly. '  He  surely  did  no 
more  than  favor  me  with  the  anathema  of  his 
countenance/' 

*'  Cousin  Beamish,  my  complaint  of  these 
young  people  is  that  they  miss  their  pleasure 
in  pursuing  it.  I  have  lectured  my  duch- 
ess— " 

*'Har 

**  Foolish,  I  own,''  said  the  duke.  '*  But 
suppose,  now,  you  had  caught  your  butterfly, 
and  you  could  neither  let  it  go  nor  consent  to 
follow  its  vagaries.     That  poses  you." 

**  Young  people,''  said  Mr.  Beamish,  '*  come 
under  my  observation  in  this  poor  realm  of 
mine — young  and  old.  I  find  them  prodig- 
iously alike  in  their  love  of  pleasure,  differing  • 


16  Hie  Tale  of  Cliloe, 

mainly  in  their  capacity  to  satisfy  it.  That  is 
no  uncommon  observation.  The  young  have 
an  edge  which  they  are  desirous  of  blunting; 
the  old  contrariwise.  The  cry  of  the  young 
for  pleasure  is  actually — I  have  studied  their 
language — a  cry  for  burdens.  Curious!  And 
the  old  ones  cry  for  having  too  many  on  their 
^houlders — which  is  not  astonishing.  Between 
them  they  make  an  agreeable  concert,  both  to 
charm  the  ears  and  guide  the  steps  of  the 
philosopher  whose  wisdom  it  is  to  avoid  their 
tracks." 

**  Good.  But  1  have  asked  you  for  prac- 
tical advice,  and  you  give  me  an  essay." 

"  For  the  reason,  duke,  that  you  propose  a 
case  that  suggests  hanging.  You  mention 
two  things  impossible  to  be  done.  The  alter- 
native is,  a  garter  and  the  bedpost.  When  we 
have  come  upon  cross-ways,  and  we  can  decide 
neither  to  take  the  right  hand  nor  the  left, 
neither  forward  nor  back,  the  index  of  the 
board  which  would  direct  us  points  to  itself, 
and  emphatically  says:  '  Gallows.'  " 


The  Tale  of  Chloe.  17 

**  Beamish,  I  am  distracted.  If  1  refuse 
her  the  visit,  I  foresee  disseusious,  tears, 
games  at  ball,  romps,  not  one  day  of  rest  re- 
maining to  me.  I  could  be  of  a  mind  with 
your  Puritan,  positively.  If  I  allow  it,  so  in- 
nocent a  creature  in  the  atmosphere  of  a  place 
like  this  must  suffer  some  corruption.  You 
should  know  that  the  station  I  took  her  from 
was — it  was  modest.  She  was  absolutely  a 
buttercup  of  the  fields.  She  has  had  various 
masters.  She  dances — she  dances  prettily,  I 
could  say  bewitchingly.  And  so  she  is  now 
for  airing  her  accomplishments  —  such  are 
women  P^ 

*'Have  you  heard  of  Chloe?''  said  Mr. 
Beamish.  '*  There  you  have  an  example  of  a 
young  lady  uncorrupted  by  this  place — of 
which  I  would  only  remark  that  it  is  best  un- 
visited,  but  better  tasted  than  longed  for.'' 

"  Chloe?  A  lady  who  squandered  her  fort- 
une to  redeem  some  ill-requiting  rascal — I  re- 
member to  have  heard  of  her.  She  is  here 
still?    And  ruined,  of  course?" 


18  Tlie  Tale  of  Chloe, 

"  In  purse/' 

'*  That  can  not  be  without  the  loss  of  repu- 
tation. " 

"  Chloe's  champion  will  grant  that  she  is 
exposed  to  the  evils  of  improvidence.  The 
more  brightly  shine  her  native  purity,  her 
goodness  of  heart,  her  trustfulness.  She  is  a 
lady  whose  exaltation  glows  in  her  abase- 
ment.'' 

*'  She  has,  I  see,  preserved  her  comeliness," 

observed  the  duke,  with  a  smile. 

"  Despite  the  flying  of  the  roses,  which  had 
not  her  heart's  patience.     'Tis  now  the  lily 

that  reigns.    So,  then,  Chloe  shall  be  attached 

to  the  duchess  during  her  stay,  and  unless  the 

devil  himself  should  interfere,  I  guarantee  her 

grace  against  any  worse  harm  than  experience; 

and  that,"  Mr.  Beamish  added,  as  the  duke 

raised  his  arms  at  the  fearful  word,  "  that 

shall  be  mild.     Play  she  will;  she  is  sure  to 

play.     Put  it  down  at  a  thousand.     We  map 

her  out  a  course  of  permissible  follies,  and  she 

plays  to  lose  the  thousand  by  degrees,  with  as 


TJie  Tale  of  Chloe,  19 

telling  an  effect  upon  a  connubial  conscience 
as  we  can  produce/' 

''  A  thousand/'  said  the  duke,  *'  will  be 
cheap  indeed.  1  think  now  1  have  had  a  de- 
scription of  this  fair  Chloe,  and  from  an  enthu- 
siast; a  brune?  Elegantly  mannered  and  of  a 
good  landed  family;  though  she  has  thought 
proper  to  conceal  her  name.  And  that  will 
be  our  difficulty.  Cousin  Beamish.'' 

**  She  was,  under  my  dominion.  Miss  Mar- 
tins ward,"  Mr.  Beamish  pursued.  "  She 
came  here  very  young,  and  at  once  her  suitors 
were  legion.  In  the  way  of  women  she  chose 
the  worst  among  them;  and  for  the  fellow 
Caseldy  she  sacrificed  the  fortune  she  has  in- 
herited of  a  maternal  uncle.  To  release  him 
from  prison  she  paid  all  his  debts;  a  mount- 
ain of  bills,  with  the  lawyers  piled  above — 
Pelion  upon  Ossa,  to  quote  our  poets.  In  fact, 
obeying  the  dictates  of  a  soul  steeped  in  gen- 
erosity, she  committed  the  indiscretion  to 
strip  herself,  scandalizing  propriety.  This 
was  immediately  on  her  coming  of  age;  and  it 


20  Tlie  Tale  of  CMoe, 

was  the  death-blow  to  her  relations  with  her 
family.  Since  then,  honored  even  by  rakes,  she 
has  lived  impoverished  at  the  Wells.  1  dubbed 
her  Ohloe,  and  man  or  woman  disrespectful  to 
Chloe,  packs.  From  being  the  victim  of  her 
generous  disposition,  I  could  not  save  her.  1 
can  protect  her  from  the  shafts  of  malice." 

**  She  has  no  passion  for  play?"  inquired 
the  duke. 

"  She  nourishes  a  passion  for  the  man  for 
whom  she  bled,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  other 
passions.  She  lives,  and  I  believe  I  may  say 
that  it  is  the  motive  of  her  rising  and  dressing 
daily,  in  expectation  of  his  advent. '' 

**  He  may  be  dead.'' 

"  The  dog  is  alive.  And  he  has  not  ceased 
to  be  Handsome  Caseldy,  they  say.  Between 
ourselves,  duke,  there  is  matter  to  break  her 
heart.  He  has  been  the  Count  Caseldy  of 
continental  gaming-tables,  and  he  is  recently 
Sir  Martin  Caseldy,  settled  on  the  estate  she 
made  him  free  to  take  up  intact  on  his  father's 
decease.'' 


The  Tale  of  CJiIoc.  21 

"Pah!  avillain!'' 

"With  a  blacker  brand  upon  him  every 
morning  that  he  looks  forth  across  his  prop- 
erty, and  leaves  her  to  languish!  She  still — 1 
say  it  to  the  redemption  of  our  sex — has  offers. 
Her  incomparable  attractions  of  mind  and 
person  exercise  the  natural  empire  of  beauty. 
But  she  will  none  of  them.  1  call  her  the 
Fair  Suicide.  She  has  died  for  love;  and  she 
is  a  ghost,  a  good  ghost,  and  a  pleasing  ghost^ 
but  an  apparition,  a  taper." 

The  duke  fidgeted,  and  expressed  a  hope  to 
hear  that  she  was  not  of  melancholy  conversa- 
tion; and  again,  that  the  subject  of  her  dis- 
course was  not  confined  to  love  and  lovers, 
happy  or  unhappy.  He  wished  his  duchess, 
he  said,  to  be  entertained  upon  gayer  topics; 
love  being  a  theme,  he  desired  to  reserve  to 
himself.  "This  month!"  he  said,  prognos- 
tically  shaking  and  moaning.  "  I  would  this 
month  were  over,  and  that  we  were  well 
purged  of  it. " 

Mr.  Beamish  reassured  him.     The  wit  and 


22  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

sprightliness  of  Chloe  were  so  famous  as  to  be 
considered  medical,  he  affirmed;  she  was  be- 
sieged for  her  company;  she  composed  and 
sung  impromptu  verses,  she  played  harp  and 
harpsichord  divinely,  and  touched  the  guitar, 
and  danced — danced  like  the  silvery  moon  on 
the  waters  of  the  mill  pool.  He  concluded  by 
saying  that  she  was  both  humane  and  wise, 
humble-minded  and  amusing,  virtuous,  yet 
not  a  Tartar;  the  best  of  companions  for  her 
grace  the  young  duchess.  Moreover,  he  bold- 
ly engaged  to  carry  the  duchess  through  the 
term  of  her  visit  under  a  name  that  should  be 
as  good  as  a  masquerade  for  concealing  his 
grace's,  while  giving  her  all  the  honors  due  to 
her  rank. 

*' You  strictly  interpret  my  wishes, '' said 
the  duke;  ''all  honors,  the  foremost  place, 
and  my  wrath  upon  man  or  woman  gainsaying 
them!" 

"  Mine,  if  you  please,  duke,''  said  Mr. 
Beamish. 

*'  A  thousand  pardons!    I  leave  it  to  you. 


TliG  Tale  of  CJdoe,  23 

cousin.  I  could  not  be  in  safer  hands.  I  am 
heartily  bounden  to  you.  Chloe,  then.  By  the 
way,  she  has  a  decent  respect  for  age?*' 

"  She  is  reverentially  inclined.  ^^ 

"  Not  that.  She  is,  1  would  ask,  no  wan- 
ton prattler  of  the  charms  and  advantages  of 
youthr' 

**  She  has  a  young  adorer  that  I  have 
dubbed  Alonzo,  whom  she  scarce  notices." 

'*  Nothing  could  be  better.  Alonzo — h^m! 
A  faithful  swain!" 

**  Life  is  his  tree,  upon  which  unceasingly 
he  carves  his  mistress's  initials.  ^^ 

"  She  should  not  be  too  cruel.  I  recollect 
myself  formerly.  I  was —  Young  men  will, 
when  long  slighted,  transfer  their  aSections, 
and  be  warmer  to  the  second  flame  than  to  the 
first.  I  put  you  on  your  guard.  He  follows 
her  much.  These  lovers'  pantings  and  puff- 
ings in  the  neighborhood  of  the  most  innocent 
of  women  are  contagious. " 

*'Her  grace  will  be  running  home  all  the 


sooner. " 


24:  The  Tale  of  Cldoe. 

*'  Or  oS — may  she  forgive  me!  I  am  like  a 
King  John's  Jew  forced  to  lend  his  treasure 
without  security.  What  a  world  is  ours! 
Nothing,  Beamish,  nothing  desirable  will  you 
have  which  is  not  coveted.  Catch  a  prize  and 
you  will  find  you  are  at  war  with  your  species. 
You  have  to  be  on  the  defensive  from  that 
moment.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  peaceable 
possession  on  earth.  Let  it  be  a  beautiful 
young  woman.     Ah!'' 

Mr.  Beamish  replied,  bracingly,  *'  The  cham- 
pion wrestler  challenges  all  comers  while  he 
wears  the  belt.'' 

The  duke  dejectedly  assented.  **  True;  or 
he  is  challenged,  say.  Is  there  any  tale  we 
could  tell  her  of  this  Alonzo?  You  could  de- 
port him  for  the  month,  my  dear  Beamish." 

*'  I  commit  no  injustice  unless  with  suffi- 
cient reason.  It  is  an  estimable  youth,  as 
shown  by  his  devotion  to  a  peerless  woman. 
To  endow  her  with  his  name  and  fortune  is 
his  only  thought." 

*'  I  perceive — an  excellent  young  fellow.     I 


The  Tale  of  Chloe,  25 

have  an  incipient  liking  for  this  young  Alon- 
zo.  You  must  not  permit  my  duchess  to 
laugh  at  him.  Encourage  her  rather  to  ad- 
vance his  suit.  The  silliness  of  a  young  man 
will  be  no  bad  spectacle.  Chloe,  then.  You 
have  set  my  mind  at  rest,  Beamish,  and  it  is 
but  another  obligation  added  to  the  heap;  so, 
if  I  do  not  speak  of  payment,  the  reason  is 
that  I  know  you  would  not  have  me  bank- 
rupt.^' 

The  remainder  of  the  colloquy  of  the  duke 
and  Mr.  Beamish  referred  to  the  date  of  her 
grace's  coming  to  the  Wells,  the  lodgment  she 
was  to  receive,  and  other  minor  arrangements 
bearing  upon  her  state  and  comfort;  the  duke 
perpetually  observing,  "I — but  I  leave  it  all 
to  you.  Beamish,"  when  he  had  laid  down 
precise  instructions  in  these  respects,  even  to 
the  specification  of  the  shop-keepers,  the  con- 
fectioner and  the  apothecary,  who  were  to  bal- 
ance or  cancel  one  another  in  the  opposite  nat- 
ure of  their  supplies,  and  the  haberdasher  and 
the  jeweler,  with  whom  she  was  to  make  her 


2e  The  Tale  of  CJiooe, 

purchases.  For  the  duke  had  a  recollection  of 
giddy  shops,  and  of  giddy  shopmen  too;  and 
it  was  by  serving  as  one  for  a  day  that  a  cer- 
tain great  nobleman  came  to  victory  with  a 
jealously  guarded  dame  beautiful  as  Venus. 
"  1  would  have  challenged  the  goddess!''  he 
cried,  and  subsided  from  his  enthusiasm 
plaintively  like  a  weak  wind  instrument.  "  So 
there  you  see  the  prudence  of  a  choice  of 
shops.     But  I  leave  it  to  you.  Beamish.'' 

Similarly  the  great  military  commander, 
having  done  whatsoever  a  careful  provision 
may  suggest  to  insure  him  victory,  casts  him- 
self upon  Providence,  with  the  hope  of  pro- 
pitiating the  unanticipated  and  darkly  possi- 
ble. 


CHAPTER  111. 
The  splendid  equipage  of  a  coach  and  six, 
with  footmen  in  scarlet  and  green,  carried 
Beau  Beamish  five  miles  along  the  road  on  a 
sunny  day  to  meet  the  young  duchess  at  the 
boundary  of  his  territory  and  conduct  her  in 


The  Tale  of  Chloe.  27 

state  to  the  Wells.  Chloe  sat  beside  him,  re- 
ceiving counsel  with  regard  to  her  prospective 
duties.  He  was  this  day  the  consummate 
Beau,  suave  but  monarchical,  and  his  manner 
of  speech  partook  of  his  external  grandeur. 
*'  Spy  me  the  horizon  and  apprise  me  if  some- 
where you  distinguish  a  chariot, ^^  he  said,  as 
they  drew  up  on  the  rise  of  a  hill  of  long  de- 
scent, where  the  dusty  roadway  sunk  between 
its  brown  hedges,  and  crawled,  mounting  from 
dry  rush-spotted  hollows  to  corn  fields  on  a 
companion  height  directly  facing  them  at  a 
remove  of  about  three  quarters  of  a  mile. 
Chloe  looked  forth,  while  the  Beau  passingly 
raised  his  hat  for  coolness,  and  murmured, 
with  a  glance  down  the  sultry  track: 

*'  It  sweats  the  eye  to  see!'' 

Presently  Cliloe  said:  "  Now  a  dust  blows. 
Something  approaches.  Now  I  discern  horses, 
now  a  vehicle;  and  it  is  a  chariot!'' 

Orders  were  issued  to  the  outriders  for  horns 
to  be  sounded. 

Both  Chloe    and  Beau  Beamish  wrinkled 


38  The  Tale  of  Cldoe, 

their  foreheads  at  the  disorderly  notes  of  triple 
horns,  whose  pealing  made  an  acid  in  the  air 
instead  of  sweetness. 

"  You  would  say,  kennel  dogs  that  bay  the 
moon!''  said  the  wincing  Beau.  "  Yet,  as 
you  know,  these  fellows  have  been  exercised. 
1  have  had  them  out  in  a  meadow  for  hours, 
baked  and  drenched,  to  get  them  rid  of  their 
native  cacophony.  But  they  love  it,  as  they 
love  bacon  and  beans.  The  musical  taste  of 
our  people  is  in  the  stage  of  the  primitive  ap- 
petite for  noise,  and  for  that  they  are  glut- 
tons.'' 

**It  will  be  pleasant  to  hear  in  the  dis- 
tance," Chloe  replied. 

''  Ay,  the  extremer  the  distance  the  pleas- 
anter  to  hear.     Are  they  advancing?" 

t'  They  stop.  There  is  a  cavalier  at  the 
window.     Now  he  doffs  his  hat." 

**  Sweepingly?" 

Chloe  described  a  semicircle  in  the  grand 
manner. 

The  Beau's  eyebrows  rose.     *'  Powers  di- 


The  Tale  of  Chloe.  29 

vine!^'  he  muttered.  **  She  is  let  loose  from 
hand  to  hand,  and  midway  comes  a  cavalier. 
We  did  not  count  on  the  hawks.  So  I  have 
to  deal  with  a  cavalier.  It  signifies,  my  dear 
Chloe,  that  1  must  incontinently  alfect  the 
passion  if  I  am  to  be  his  match — nothing 
less. " 

"  He  has  flown,"  said  Chloe. 

"  AVhom  she  encounters  after  meeting  me, 
I  care  not,''  quoth  the  Beau,  snapping  a  fin- 
ger. ''But  there  has  been  an  interval  for 
damage  with  a  lady  innocent  as  Eve.  Is  she 
advancing?" 

"  The  chariot  is  trotting  down  the  hill.  He 
has  ridden  back.     She  has  no  attendant  horse- 


man." 


'*  They  were  dismissed  at  my  injunction  ten 
miles  off;  particularly  to  the  benefit  of  the 
cavaliering  horde,  it  would  appear.  In  the 
case  of  a  woman,  Chloe,  one  blink  of  the  eye- 
lids is  an  omission  of  watchfulness." 

"That  is  an  axiom  fit  for  the  harem  of  the 
grand  seignior." 


30  Tlie  Tale  of  Chloe. 

**  The  grand  seignior  might  give  ns  profit- 
able lessons  for  dealing  with  the  sex/' 

"  Distrust  us,  and  it  is  a  declaration  of 
war!'' 

*'  Trust  you,  and  the  stopper  is  out  of  the 
smelling-bottle.'' 

"  Mr.  Beamish,  we  are  women,  but  we  have 
souls." 

* '  The  pip  in  the  apple  whose  ruddy  cheeks 
allure  little  Tommy  to  rob  the  orchard  is  as 
good  a  preservative." 

*'  You  admit  that  men  are  our  enemies?" 

' '  I  maintain  that  they  carry  the  banner  of 
virtue." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Beamish,  I  shall  expire." 

**  I  forbid  it  in  my  life-time,  Chloe,  for  1 
wish  to  die  believing  in  one  woman. " 

^'  No  flattery  for  me  at  the  expense  of  my 
sisters!" 

*'  Then  fly  to  a  hermitage;  for  all  flattery  is 
at  somebody's  expense,  child.  'Tis  an  essence 
— extract  of  humanity!  To  live  on  it,  in  the 
fashion  of  some  people,  is  bad — it  is  downright 


The  Tale  of  Cliloe.  SI 

cannibal.  But  we  may  sprinkle  our  handker- 
chiefs with  it,  and  we  should,  if  we  would 
caress  our  noses  with  an  air.  Society,  my 
Chloe,  is  a  recommencement  upon  an  upper 
level  of  the  savage  system;  we  must  have  our 
sacrifices.  As,  for  instance,  what  say  you  of 
myself  beside  our  booted  bumpkin  squires?'^ 
"  Hundreds  of  them,  Mr.  Beamish!" 
**  That  is  a  holocaust  of- squires  reduced  to 
make  an  incense  for  me,  though  you  have  not 
performed  Druid  rites  and  packed  them  in 
gigantic  osier  ribs.  Be  philosophical,  but  ac- 
cept your  personal  dues.  Grant  us  ours  too. 
I  have  a  serious  intention  to  preserve  this 
young  duchess,  and  I  expect  my  task  to  be 
severe.  1  carry  the  banner  aforesaid;  verily 
and  penitentially  I  do.  It  is  an  error  of  the 
vulgar  to  suppose  that  all  is  dragon  in  the 
dragon's  jaw." 

*'  Men  are  his  fangs  and  claws." 
'*  Ay,  but  the  passion  for  his  fiery  breath  is 
in  woman.    She  will  take  her  leap  and  have  her 
jump,  will  and  will!    And  at  the  point  where 


32  TJie  Tale  of  Cliloe, 

she  will  and  she  won't,  the  dragon  gulps,  and 
down  she  goes!  However,  the  business  is  to 
keep  our  buttercup  duchess  from  that  same 
point.     Is  she  near?'' 

''  I  can  see  her,"  said  Chloe. 

Beau  Beamish  requested  a  sketch  of  her, 
and  Chloe  began: 

"  She  is  ravishing."" 

Upon  which  he  commented: 

"  Every  woman  is  ravishing  at  forty  paces, 
and  still  more  so  in  imagination. " 

**  Beautiful  auburn  hair,  and  a  dazzling  red- 
and- white  complexion,  set  in  a  blue  coif." 

*'  Her  eyes?" 

"Melting  blue." 

"  'Tis  an  English  witch!"  exclaimed  the 
Beau,  and  he  compassionately  invoked  her  ab- 
sent lord. 

Chloe's  optics  were  no  longer  tasked  to  dis- 
cern the  fair  lady's  lineaments,  for  the  chariot 
windows  came  flush  with  those  of  the  Beau  on 
the  broad  plateau  of  the  hill.  His  coach  door 
was  opened.    He  sat  upright,  leveling  his  privi- 


The  Tale  of  Chloe,  33 

leged  stare  at  Duchess  Susan  until  she  blush- 
ed. 

''  Ay,  madame/'  quoth  he,  "I  am  not  the 
first/' 

'*  La,  sir!'*  said  she,  '*  who  are  you?" 

The  Beau  deliberately  raised  his  hat  and 
bowed.  **  He,  madame,  of  whose  approach 
the  gentleman  who  took  his  leave  of  you  on 
yonder  elevation  informed  you." 

She  looked  artlessly  over  her  shoulder,  and 
at  the  Beau  alighting  from  his  carriage:  **  A 
gentleman?" 

"  On  horseback." 

The  duchess  popped  her  head  through  the 
window  on  an  impulse  to  measure  the  distance 
between  the  two  hills. 

'*  Never!"  she  cried. 

**  Why,  madame,  did  he  deliver  no  message 
to  announce  me?"  said  the  Beau,  ruffling. 

**  Goodness  gracious!  You  must  be  Mr. 
Beamish,"  she  replied. 

He  laid  his  hat  on  his  bosom,  and  invited 
her  to  quit  her  carriage  for  a  seat  beside  him. 

2 


34  TJie  Tale  of  Oliloe. 

She  stipulated:  *'  If  you  are  really  Mr. 
Beamish?'^ 

He  frowned  and  raised  his  head  to  convince 
her;  but  she  would  not  be  impressed;  and  he 
applied  to  Chloe  to  establish  his  identity. 

Hearing  Chloe's  name,  the  duchess  called 
out: 

"  Oh,  there,  now,  that's  enough;  for  Chloe's 
my  maid  here,  and  I  know  she's  a  lady  bom; 
and  we're  going  to  be  friends.  Hand  me  to 
Chloe.  And  you  are  Chloe?"  she  said,  after  a 
frank  stride  from  step  to  step  of  the  carriages. 
**  And  don't  mind  being  my  maid!  You  do 
look  a  nice,  kind  creature.  And  I  see  you're 
a  lady  born — I  know  in  a  minute.  You're 
dark,  I'm  fair;  we  shall  suit.  And  tell  me — 
hush!  What  dreadful  long  eyes  he  has!  I 
shall  ask  you  presently  what  you  think  of  me. 
I  was  never  at  the  Wells  before.  Dear  me! 
the  coach  has  turned.  How  far  off  shall  we 
hear  the  bells  to  say  I'm  comiug?  I  know 
I'm  to  have  bells.  Mr.  Beamish,  Mr.  Beamish ! 
1  must  have  a  chatter  with  a  woman,  and  I  am 


The  Tale  of  CJdoe.  35 

in  awe  of  yon,  sir,  that  1  am;  but  men  and 
men  1  see  to  talk  to  for  a  lift  of  my  finger  by 
the  dozen  in  my  duke's  palace,  though  they're 
old  ones,  that's  true;  but  a  woman  who's  a 
lady,  and  kind  enough  to  be  my  maid  I  haven't 
met  yet  since  I  had  the  right  to  wear  a  coro- 
net. There,  I'll  hold  Chloe's  hand,  and  that'll 
do.  You  would  tell  me  at  once,  Chloe,  if  I 
was  not  dressed  to  your  taste,  now,  wouldn't 
you?  As  for  talkative,  that's  a  sign  with  me 
of  my  liking  people.  I  really  don't  know 
what  to  say  to  my  duke  sometimes.  I  sit  and 
think  it  so  funny  to  be  having  a  duke  instead 
of  a  husband.     You're  ofi?" 

The  duchess  laughed  at  Chloe's  laughter. 
Chloe  excused  herself,  but  was  informed  by 
her  mistress  that  it  was  what  she  liked. 

**  For  the  first  two  years,"  she  resumed, 
**  I  could  hardly  speak  a  syllable.  I  stam- 
mered, I  reddened,  I  longed  to  be  up  in  my 
room  brushing  and  curling  my  hair,  and  was 
ready  to  courtesy  to  everybody.  Now  I'm 
quite  at  home,  for  I've  plenty  of  courage — ex- 


36  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

cept  about  death,  and  I'm  worse  about  death 
than  1  was  when  I  was  a  simple  body  with 
gawk's  *  lawks! '  in  her  round  eyes  and  mouth 
for  an  egg,  I  wonder  why  that  is?  But  isn't 
death  horrible?  And  skeletons!"  The  duch- 
ess shuddered. 

"  It  depends  upon  the  skeleton,"  said  Beau 
Beamish,  who  had  joined  the  conversation. 
**  Yours,  madame,  I  would  rather  not  meet, 
because  she  would  precipitate  me  into  trans- 
ports of  regret  for  the  loss  of  the  flesh.  I 
have,  however,  met  mine  own  and  had  reason 
for  satisfaction  with  the  interview." 

*'  Your  own  skeleton,  sir!"  said  the  duch- 
ess, wonderingly  and  appalled. 

"  Unmistakably  mine.  I  will  call  you  to 
witness  by  an  account  of  him.'' 

Duchess  Susan  gaped,  and:  "Oh,  don't!" 
she  cried  out;  but  added:  **  It's  broad  day, 
and  I've  got  some  one  to  sleep  anigh  me  after 
dark;"  with  which  she  smiled  on  Chloe,  who 
promised  her  there  was  no  matter  for  alarm. 

**  I  encountered  my  gentleman  as  I  was  pro- 


The  Tale  of  Cliloe,  37 

ceeding  to  my  room  at  night/'  said  the  Beau, 
*'  along  a  narrow  corridor,  where  it  was  im- 
perative that  one  of  ns  should  yield  the  pas  ; 
and,  I  must  confess  it,  we  are  all  so  amazingly 
alike  in  our  bones,  that  I  stood  prepared  to 
demand  place  of  him.  For  indubitably  the 
fellow  was  an  obstruction,  and  at  the  first 
glance  repulsive.  I  took  him  for  anybody's 
skeleton — death's  ensign,  with  his  cachinatory 
skull,  and  the  numbered  ribs,  and  the  extraor- 
dinary splay  feet — in  fact,  the  whole  ungainly 
and  shaky  hobbledehoy  which  man  is  built  on, 
and  by  whose  image  in  his  weaker  moments 
he  is  haunted.  I  had,  to  be  frank,  been  danc- 
ing on  a  supper  with  certain  of  our  choicest 
wits  and  beauties.  It  is  a  recipe  for  conjur- 
ing apparitions.  Now,  then,  thinks  I,  my  fine 
fellow,  I  will  bounce  you;  and  without  saluta- 
tion I  pressed  forward.  Madame,  I  give  you 
my  word  he  behaved  to  the  full  pitch  as  I  my- 
self should  have  done  under  similar  circum- 
stances. Retiring  upon  an  inclination  of  his 
structure,  he  draws  up  and  fetches  me  a  bow 


38  The  Tale  of  Chloe, 

of  the  exact  middle  nick  between  dignity  and 
service.  I  advance,  he  withdraws,  and  again 
the  bow,  devoid  of  obsequiousness,  majestic- 
ally condescending.  These,  think  1,  be  royal 
manners.  I  could  have  taken  him  for  the 
Sable  King  in  person,  stripped  of  his  mantle. 
On  my  soul,  he  put  me  to  the  blush.  ^' 

*'  And  is  that  all?''  asked  the  duchess,  re- 
lieving herself  with  a  sigh. 

**Why,  madame,''  quoth  the  Beau,  *'do 
you  not  see  that  he  could  have  been  none 
other  than  mine  own,  who  could  comport  him- 
self with  that  grand  air  and  gracefulness  when 
wounded  by  his  closest  relative?  Upon  his 
opening  my  door  for  me,  and  accepting  the 
paSf  which  I  now  right  heartily  accorded  him, 
I  recognized  at  once  both  him  and  the  reproof 
he  had  designedly  dealt  me — or  the  wine  sup- 
per I  had  danced  on,  perhaps  1  should  say; 
and  I  protest  that  by  such  a  display  of  su- 
preme good -breeding  he  managed  to  convey 
the  highest  compliment  ever  received  by  man, 
namely,  the  assurance  that  after  the  wither- 


The  Tale  of  Chloe,  39 

ing  away  of  this  mortal  garb,  I  shall  still  be 
noted  for  urbanity  and  elegance.  Nay,  and 
more — immortally  without  the  slip  1  was 
guilty  of  when  I  carried  the  bag  of  wine." 

Duchess  Susan  fanned  herself  to  assist  her 
digestion  of  the  anecdote. 

'*  Well,  it's  not  so  frightful  a  story,  and  1 
know  you  are  the  great  Mr.  Beamish,"  she 
said. 

He  questioned  her  whether  the  gentleman 
had  signaled  him  to  her  on  the  hill. 

"  What  can  he  mean  about  a  gentleman?" 
she  turned  to  Chloe.  *'  My  duke  told  me  you 
would  meet  me,  sir.  And  you  are  to  pro- 
tect me.  And  if  anything  happens  it  is  to  be 
your  fault." 

**  Entirely,"  said  the  Beau.  "  I  shall  there- 
fore maintain  a  vigilant  guard." 

**  Except  leaving  me  free.  Oof!  Fve  been 
boxed  up  so  long.  1  declare,  Chloe,  I  feel  like 
a  best  dress  out  for  a  holiday,  and  a  bit  afraid 
of  spoiling.  I'm  a  real  child — more  than  I 
was  when  my  duke  married  me.     I  seemed  to 


40  The  Tale  of  CMoe. 

go  in  and  grow  up  again  after  I  was  raised  to 
fortune.  And  nobody  to  tell  of  it!  Fancy 
that!  For  you  can^t  talk  to  old  gentlemen 
about  what^s  going  on  in  your  heart." 

"  How  of  young  gentlemen?''  she  was  asked 
by  the  Beau. 

And  she  replied:  **  They  find  it  out." 

*'  Not  if  you  do  not  assist  them/'  said  he. 

Duchess  Susan  let  her  eyelids  and  her  under- 
lip  half  drop,  as  she  looked  at  him  with  the 
simple  shyness  of  one  of  nature's  thoughts  in 
her  head  at  peep  on  the  pastures  of  the  world. 
The  melting  blue  eyes  and  the  cherry  lip  made 
an  exceedingly  quickening  picture.  '*  Now, 
I  wonder  if  that  is  true.^"  She  transferred 
her  slyness  to  speech. 

"  Beware  the  middle-aged!"  he  exclaimed. 

She  appealed  to  Chloe: 

"  And  I'm  sure  they're  the  nicest." 

Chloe  agreed  that  they  were. 

The  duchess  measured  Chloe  and  the  Beau 
together  with  a  mind  swift  in  apprehendiug 
all  that  it  hungered  for. 


The  Tale  of  Chloe.  41 

She  would  have  pursued  the  pleasing  theme 
had  she  not  been  directed  to  gaze  below  upon 
the  towers  and  roofs  of  the  Wells,  shining 
sleepily  in  a  siesta  of  afternoon  summer  sun- 
light. 

With  a  spread  of  her  silken  robe  she  touched 
the  edifice  of  her  hair,  murmuring  to  Chloe: 
"  1  can't  abide  that  powder.  You  shall  see 
me  walk  in  a  hoop.  1  can.  I've  done  it  to 
slow  music  till  my  duke  clapped  hands.  I'm 
nothing  sitting  to  what  I  am  on  my  feet. 
That's  because  I  haven't  got  fine  language 
yet.  1  shall.  It  seems  to  come  last.  So 
there's  the  place.  And  whereabouts  do  all  the 
great  people  meet  and  prome — ?" 

''  They  promenade  where  you  see  the  trees, 
madame,"  said  Chloe. 

*'  And  where  is  it  where  the  ladies  sit  and 
eat  jam  tarts  with  whipped  cream  on  'em, 
while  the  gentlemen  stand  and  pay  compli- 
ments?" 

Chloe  said  it  was  at  a  shop  near  the  pump- 
room. 


42  The  Tale  of  CJdoe. 

Duchess  Susan  looked  out  over  the  house- 
tops beyond  the  dusty  hedges. 

'*  Oh,  and  that  powder!"  she  cried,  **  I  hate 
to  be  out  of  the  fashion  and  a  spectacle.  But 
I  do  love  my  own  hair,  and  I  have  such  a  lot, 
and  1  like  the  color,  and  so  does  my  duke. 
Only  don't  let  me  be  fingered  at.  If  once  I 
begin  to  blush  before  peojDle,  my  courage  is 
gone,  my  singing  inside  me  is  choked,  and 
I've  a  real  lark  going  on  in  me  all  day  long, 
rain  or  sunshine — hush,  all  about  love  and 
amusement." 

Chloe  smiled,  and  Duchess  Susan  said: 
'*  Just  like  a  bird,  for  I  don't  know  what  it 


is." 


She  looked  for  Chloe  to  say  that  she  did. 

At  the  moment  a  pair  of  mounted  squires 
rode  up,  and  the  coach  stopped,  while  Beau 
Beamish  gave  orders  for  the  church  bells  to  be 
set  ringing,  and  the  band  to  meet  and  precede 
his  equipage  at  the  head  of  the  Bath  Avenue, 
'*ln  honor  of  the  arrival  of  her  Grace  the 
Duchess  of  Dewlap." 


The  Tale  of  Chhe,  43 

He  delivered  these  words  loudly  to  his  men, 
and  turned  an  effulgent  gaze  upon  the  duch- 
ess, so  that  for  a  minute  she  was  fascinated, 
and  did  not  consult  her  hearing;  but  presently 
she  fell  into  an  uneasiness;  the  signs  in- 
creased, she  bit  her  lip,  and  after  breathing 
short  once  or  twice:  "  Was  it  meaning  me, 
Mr.  Beamish ?^^  she  said. 

**  You,  madame,  are  the  person  whom  we 
delight  to  honor,"  he  replied. 

'*  Duchess  of  what?'^  she  screwed  uneasy 
features  to  hear. 

**  Duchess  of  Dewiap,"  said  he. 

*'  It^s  not  my  title,  sir." 

*'  It  is  your  title  on  my  territory,  madame. " 

She  made  her  pretty  nose  and  upper  lip 
ugly  with  a  sneer  of: 

"Dew!  And  enter  that  town  before  all 
those  people  as  Duchess  of —  Oh,  no,  I  won't; 
I  just  wonH!  Call  back  those  men,  now, 
please;  now,  if  you  please.  Pray,  Mr.  Beam- 
ish! You'll  offend  me,  sir.  I'm  not  going 
to  be  a  mock.     You'll  offend  my  duke,  sir. 


44  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

He'd  die  rather  than  have  my  feelings  hurt. 
Here's  all  my  pleasure  spoiled.  I  won't  and 
1  sha'n't  enter  the  town  as  duchess  of  that 
stupid  name — so  call  'em  back,  call  'em  back 
this  instant.  I  know  who  I  am  and  what  I 
am,  and  I  know  what's  due  to  me,  1  do!" 

Beau  Beamish  rejoined:  ''1,  too.  Chloe 
will  tell  you  I  am  lord  here. " 

*'  Then  I'll  go  hoine,  I  will.  I  won't  be 
laughed  at  for  a  great  lady  ninny.  I'm  a  real 
lady  of  high  rank,  and  such  I'll  appear. 
What's  a  Duchess  of  Dewlap?  One  might  as 
well  be  Duchess  of  Cowstail,  Duchess  of  Mops- 
end.  And  those  people!  But  I  won't  be 
that.  I  won't  be  played  with.  I  see  them 
staring!  No,  1  can  make  up  my  mind,  and 
I  beg  you  to  call  back  your  men,  or  I'll  go 
back  home."  She  muttered:  *'  Be  made  fun 
of — made  a  fool  of!" 

**  Your  grace's  chariot  is  behind,"  said  the 
Beau. 

His  despotic  coolness  provoked  her  to  an 
outcry  and  weeping.     She  repeated:  *' Dew- 


The  Tale  of  CJiloe,  .  45 

lap,  Dewlap!"  in  sobs;  she  shook  her  shoul- 
ders and  hid  her  face. 

**  You  are  proud  of  your  title,  are  you,  ma- 
dame?'^  said  he. 

**  I  am.'^  She  came  out  of  her  hands  to  an- 
swer him  proudly.  *'  That  I  am!''  she  meant 
for  a  stronger  affirmation. 

''  Then  mark  me/'  he  said,  impressively, 
**  I  am  your  duke's  friend,  and  you  are  under 
my  charge  here.  1  am  your  guardian,  and 
you  are  my  ward,  and  you  can  enter  the  town 
only  on  the  condition  of  obedience  to  me. 
Now,  mark  me,  madame,  no  one  can  rob  you 
of  your  real  name  and  title  saving  yourself. 
But  you  are  entering  a  place  where  you  will 
encounter  a  thousand  temptations  to  tarnish, 
and  haply  forfeit  it.  Be  warned:  do  noth- 
ing that  will." 

"  Then  I'm  to  have  my  own  title?"  said 
she,  clearing  up, 

**  For  the  month  of  your  visit  you  are  Duch- 
ess of  Dewlap. " 

'*Isay,  Isha'n't!" 


46  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

j    ''You  shall.'' 

*'  Never,  sir!" 

**  1  command  it.' 

She  flung  herself  forward  with  a  wail,  upon  ' 
Chloe's  bosom.     *'  Can^t  you  do  something 
for  me?"  she  whimpered. 

**  It  is  impossible  to  move  Mr.  Beamish," 
Chloe  said. 

Out  of  a  pause,  composed  of  sobs  and  sighs, 
the  duchess  let  loose  in  a  broken  voice: 

''  Then  I'm  sure  I  think— I  think  I'd  rather 
have  met — have  met  his  skeleton!" 

Her  sincerity  was  equal  to  wit. 

Beau  Beamish  shouted.  He  cordially  ap- 
plauded her,  and  in  the  genuine  kindness  of 
an  admiration  that  surprised  him,  he  permitted 
himself  the  liberty  of  taking  and  saluting  her 
fingers.  She  fancied  there  was  another  chance[; 
for  her,  but  he  frowned  at  the  mention  of  it. 

Upon  these  proceedings  the  exhilarating 
Bound  of  the  band  was  heard;  simultaneously 
a  festival  peal  of  bells  burst  forth;  and  an  ad- 
monishment of  the  necessity  for  concealing 


ne  Tale  of  Chloe,  47 

her  chagrin,  and  exhibiting  both  station  and 
countenance  to  the  people,  combined  with  the 
excitement  of  the  new  scenes  and  the  march- 
ing music  to  banish  the  acuter  sense  of  disap- 
pointment from  Duchess  Susan's  mind;  so  she 
very  soon  held  herself  erect,  and  wore  a  face 
open  to  every  wonder,  impressionable  as  the 
blue  lake-surface,  crisped  here  and  there  by 
fitful  breezes  against  a  level  sun. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

It  was  an  axiom  with  Mr.  Beamish,  our 
first,  if  not  our  only  philosophical  Beau  and  a 
gentleman  of  some  thoughtfulness,  that  the 
social  English  require  tyrannical  government 
as  much  as  the  political  are  able  to  dispense 
with  it:  and  this  he  explained  by  an  exposition 
of  the  character  of  a  race  possessed  of  the  emi- 
nent virtue  of  individual  self-assertion,  which 
causes  them  to  insist  on  good  elbow  room 
wherever  they  gather  together.  Society,  ho  w- 
ever,  not  being  tolerable  where  the  smooth- 


48  The  Tale  of  Chloe, 

ness  of  intercourse  is  disturbed  by  a  perpetual 
punching  of  sides,  the  merits  of  the  free  citi- 
zen in  them  become  their  demerits  when  a 
fraternal  circle  is  established,  and  they  who 
have  shown  an  example  of  civilization  too 
notable  in  one  sphere  to  call  for  eulogy,  are 
often  to  be  seen  elbowing  on  the  ragged  edge 
of  barbarism  in  the  other.  They  must  there- 
fore be  reduced  to  accept  laws  not  of  their  own 
making,  and  of  an  extreme  rigidity. 

Here  too  is  a  further  peril;  for  the  gallant 
spirits  distinguishing  them  in  the  state  of  in- 
dependence may — he  foresaw  the  melancholy 
experience  of  a  later  age — abandon  them  ut- 
terly in  subjection,  and  the  glorious  boister- 
ousness  befitting  the  village  green  forsake 
them  even  in  their  haunts  of  liberal  associa- 
tion, should  they  once  be  thoroughly  tamed 
by  authority.  *' Our  merrie  England '' will 
then  be  long-faced  England,  an  England  of 
fallen  chaps,  like  a  boar's  head,  bearing  for 
speech  a  lemon  in  the  mouth;  good  to  feast 
on,  mayhap;  not  with! 


The  Tale  of  Cliloe.    "*  49 

Mr.  Beamish  would  actually  seem  to  have 
foreseen  the  danger  of  a  transition  that  he 
could  watch  over  only  in  his  time;  and,  as  he 
said,  '*  I  go,  as  I  came,  on  a  flash ;^^  he  had 
neither  ancestry  nor  descendants;  he  was  a 
genius;  he  knew  himself  a  solitary,  therefore, 
in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  create  his  like.  With- 
in his  district  he  did  effect  something — enough 
to  give  him  fame  as  one  of  the  princely  fathers 
of  our  domestic  civilization,  though  we  now 
appear  to  have  lost  by  it  more  than  former- 
ly we  gained.  The  chasing  of  the  natural  is 
ever  fraught  with  dubious  hazards.  If  it  gal- 
lops back,  according  to  the  proverb,  it  will  do 
so  at  the  charge — commonly  it  gallops  off, 
quite  off :  and  then  for  any  kind  of  animation 
our  precarious  dependence  is  upon  brains:  we 
have  to  live  on  our  wits,  which  are  ordinarily 
less  productive  than  land,  and  can  not  be  re- 
mitted in  entail. 

Rightly  or  wrongly — there  are  differences  of 
opinion  about  it — Mr.  Beamish  repressed  the 
chthonic  natural  with  a  rod  of  iron  beneath 


50  The  Tale  of  Chloe, 

his  rule.  The  hoiden  and  the  bumpkin  had 
no  peace  until  they  had  given  public  imita- 
tions of  the  lady  and  the  gentleman;  nor  were 
the  lady  and  the  gentleman  privileged  to  be 
what  he  called  "free  flags."  He  could  be 
charitable  to  the  passion;  but  he  bellowed  the 
very  word  itself — hauled  up  smoking  from  the 
brimstone  lake — against  them  that  pretended 
to  be  shamelessly  guilty  of  the  peccadilloes  of 
gallantry.  His  famous  accost  of  a  lady  threat- 
ening to  sink,  and  already  performing  like  a 
vessel  in  that  situation.  *'  So,  madame,  I 
hear  you  are  preparing  to  enroll  yourself  in 
the  very  ancient  order  of — "  he  named  it;  was 
a  piece  of  insolence  that  involved  him  in  some 
discord  with  the  lady's  husband  and  *'  the  ras- 
cal steward, '^  as  he  chose  to  term  the  third 
party  in  these  affairs.  Yet  it  is  reputed  to 
have  saved  the  lady. 

Furthermore  he  attacked  the  vulgarity  of 
persons  of  quality,  and  he  has  told  a  fashion- 
able dame  who  was  indulging  herself  in  a 
marked  sneer  of  disdain,  not  improving  her 


The  Tale  of  Cliloe,  51 

features,  *'  that  he  would  be  pleased  to  have 
her  Assurance  it  was  her  face  she  presented  to 
mankind:'^  a  thing — thanks,  perhaps,  to  him 
chiefly — no  longer  possible  of  utterance.  One 
of  the  sex  asking  him  why  he  addressed  his 
persecutions  particularly  to  women:  "  Because 
1  fight  your  battle/'  says  he,  *'  and  I  find  you 
in  the  ranks  of  the  enemy/'  He  treated  them 
as  traitors. 

He  was,  nevertheless,  well  supported  by  a 
sex  that  compensates  for  dislike  of  its  friend 
before  a  certain  age  by  a  cordial  lecognition 
of  him  when  it  has  touched  the  period.  A 
phalanx  of  great  dames  gave  him  the  terrors 
of  Olympus  for  all  except  the  natively  auda- 
cious, the  truculent  and  the  insufferably  ob- 
tuse; and  from  the  midst  of  them  he  launched 
decree  and  bolt  to  good  effect:  not,  of  course, 
without  receiving  return  missiles,  and  not 
without  subsequent  question  whether  the  work 
of  that  man  were  beneficial  to  the  country  who 
indeed  tamed  the  bumpkin  squire  and  his 
brood,  but  at  the  cost  of  their  animal  spirits 


62  The  Tale  of  Chloe, 

and  their  gift  of  speech,  viz.,  by  making 
petrifactions  of  them.  In  the  surgical  opera- 
tion of  tracheotomy,  a  successful  treatment  of 
the  patient  hangs,  we  believe,  on  the  prompt- 
ness and  skill  of  the  introduction  of  the  arti- 
ficial windpipe;  and  it  may  be  that  our  un- 
happy countrymen  when  cut  ofi  from  the 
source  of  their  breath  were  not  neatly  handled, 
or  else  that  there  is  a  physical  opposition  in 
them  to  anything  artificial,  and  it  must  be 
nature  or  nothing.  The  dispute  shall  be  left 
where  it  stands. 

[Now,  to  venture  upon  parading,  a  beautiful 
young  Duchess  of  Dewlap,  with  an  odor  of 
the  shepherdess  about  her  notwithstanding 
her  acquired  art  of  stepping  conformably  in  a 
hoop,  and  to  demand  full  homage  of  respect 
for  a  lady  bearing  such  a  title,  who  had  the  in- 
toxicating attractions  of  the  ruddy  orchard 
apple  on  the  tree  next  the  roadside  wall  when 
the  owner  is  absent,  was  bold  in  Mr.  Beamish, 
passing  temerity;  nor  would  even  he  have  at- 
tempted it  had  he  not  been  assured  of  the  sup- 


The  Tale  of  Chloe»  63 

port  of  his  phalanx  of  great  ladies.  They  in- 
deed, after  being  taken  into  the  secret,  had 
stipulated  that  first  they  must  have  an  insj^ec- 
tion  of  the  transformed  dairy-maid,  and  the  re- 
view was  not  unfavorable.  Duchess  Susan 
came  out  of  it  more  scatheless  than  her  duke. 
She  was  tongue-tied,  and  her  tutored  walking 
and  really  admirable  stature  helped  her  to  ap- 
pease the  critics  of  her  sex,  by  whom  her  too 
readily  blushful  innocence  was  praised,  with 
a  reserve,  expressed  in  the  remark,  that  she 
was  a  monstrous  fine  toy  for  a  duke's  second 
childhood,  and  should  never  have  been  let  fly 
from  his  nursery.  Her  milliner  was  ap- 
proved. The  duke  was  a  notorious  connois- 
seur of  female  charms,  and  would  see,  of 
course,  to  the  decorous  adornment  of  her  per- 
son by  the  best  of  modistes.  Her  smiling  was 
pretty,  her  eyes  were  soft;  she  might  turn  out 
good,  if  well  guarded  for  a  time;  but  these 
merits  of  the  woman  are  not  those  of  the  great 
lady,  and  her  title  was  too  strong  a  beam  on 
her  character  to  give  it  a  fair  chance  with  her 


54  Tlie  Tale  of  CJiloe. 

critics.  They  one  and  all  recommended  pow- 
der for  her  hair  and  cheeks.  That  odor  of  the 
shepherdess  could  be  exorcised  by  no  other 
means,  they  declared.  Her  blushing  was  in- 
decent. 

Truly  the  critics  of  the  foeman  sex  behaved 
in  a  way  to  cause  the  blushes  to  swarm  rosy 
as  the  troops  of  young  loves  round  Cytherea 
in  her  sea-birth,  when  some  soaring,  and  sink- 
ing some,  they  flutter  like  her  loosened  zone, 
and  breast  the  air  thick  as  flower  petals  on  the 
summer's  breath,  weaving  her  net  for  the 
world.  Duchess  Susan  might  protest  her  in- 
ability to  keep  her  blushes  down;  the  wrong 
was  done  by  the  insolent  eyes,  and  not  by  her 
artless  cheeks.  Ay,  but  nature,  if  we  were  to 
tame  these  men,  must  be  swathed  and  con- 
cealed, partly  stifled,  absolutely  stifled  upon 
occasion.  The  natural  woman  does  not  move 
a  foot  without  striking  earth  to  conjure  up 
the  horrid  apparition  of  the  natural  man, 
who  is  not  as  she,  but  a  cannibal  savage.  To 
be  the  light  which  leads,  it  is  her  business  to 


The  Tale  of  Chloe,  55 

don  the  misty  vesture  of  an  idea,  that  she  may 
dwell  as  an  idea  in  men's  minds,  very  dim, 
very  powerful,  but  abstruse,  unseizable.  Much 
wisdom  was  imparted  to  her  on  the  subject, 
and  she  understood  a  little,  and  echoed  hollow 
to  the  remainder,  willing  to  show  entire  docility 
as  far  as  her  intelligence  consented  to  be 
awake.  She  was  in  that  stage  of  the  dainty, 
faintly  tinged  innocence  of  the  amorousness  of 
themselves  when  beautiful  young  women  who 
have  not  been  caught  for  schooling  in  infancy 
deem  it  a  defilement  to  be  made  to  appear 
other  than  the  blessed  nature  has  made  them, 
which  has  made  them  beautiful,  and  surely 
therefore  deserves  to  be  worshiped.  The 
lectures  of  the  great  ladies  and  Chloe's  counsels 
failed  to  persuade  her  to  use  the  powder  puff- 
ball.  Perhaps,  too,  as  timidity  quitted  her, 
she  enjoyed  her  distinctiveness  in  their  midst. 
But  the  distinctiveness  of  a  Duchess  of 
Dewlap,  with  the  hair  and  cheeks  of  our  native 
fields,  was  fraught  with  troubles  outrunning 
Mr.   Beamish's   calculations.     He    had    per- 


56  Tlie  Tale  of  Gliloe, 

ceived  that  she  would  be  attractive;  he  had  not 
reckoned  on  the  homogeneousness  of  her  par- 
ticular English  charms.  A  beauty  in  red, 
white  and  blue,  is  our  goddess,  Venus  with  the 
apple  of  Paris  in  her  hand;  and  after  two  visits 
to  the  Pump  Eoom,  and  one  promenade  in 
the  walks  about  the  Assembly  House,  she  had 
as  completely  divided  the  ordinary  guests  of 
the  Wells  into  male  and  female  in  opinion  as 
her  mother  Nature  had  done  it  in  sex.  And 
the  men  would  not  be  silenced;  they  had  gazed 
on  their  divinest,  and  it  was  for  the  women 
to  succumb  to  that  unwholesome  state,  so  full 
of  thunder.  Knights  and  squires,  military 
and  rural,  threw  up  their  allegiance  right  and 
left  to  devote  themselves  to  this  robust  new 
vision,  and  in  their  peculiar  manner,  with  a 
general  view-halloo,  and  yoicks,  tally-ho, 
and  away  we  go,  pelt  ahead !  Unexampled  as 
it  is  in  England  for  Beauty  to  kindle  the 
ardors  of  the  scent  of  the  fox.  Duchess  Susan 
did  more — she  turned  all  her  followers  into 
hounds;  they  were  madmen;  within  a  very  few 


Tlie  Tale  of  Chloe.  57 

days  of  her  entrance  bets  raged  about  her^ 
and  there  were  brawls,  jolly  flings  at  her  char- 
acter in  the  form  of  lusty  encomium,  givings  of 
the  lie,  and  upon  one  occasion  a  knock-down 
blow  in  pulDlic,  as  though  ihe  place  had  never 
known  the  polishing  touch  of  Mr.  Beamish. 

He  was  thrown  into  great  perplexity  by  that 
blow.  Discountenancing  the  duel  as  much  as 
he  could,  an  affair  of  the  sword  was  neverthe- 
less more  tolerable  than  the  brutal  fist;  and  of 
all  men  to  be  guilty  of  it,  who  would  have  an- 
ticipated the  young  Alonzo,  Ohloe^s  quiet,  mod- 
est lover!  He  it  was.  The  case  came  before' 
Mr.  Beamish  for  his  decision;  he  had  to  pro- 
nounce an  impartial  judgment,  and  for  some 
time,  during  the  examination  of  evidence,  he 
suffered,  as  he  assures  us  in  his  Memoirs,  a 
royal  agony.  To  have  to  strike  with  the  glave 
of  Justice  those  whom  we  most  esteem  is  the 
greatest  affliction  known  to  kings.  He  would 
have  done  it;  he  deserved  to  reign.  Happily 
the  evidence  against  the  gentleman  who  was 
tumbled,  Mr.   Ralph  Shepster,  excused  Mr. 


58  The  Tale  of  Chloe, 

Augustus  Camwell,  otherwise  Alonzo,  for 
dealing  with  him  promptly  to  shut  his  mouth. 

This  Shepster,  a  raw  young  squire,  "  reek- 
ing/' Beau  Beamish  writes  of  him,  "  one  half 
of  the  soil,  and  t'other  half  of  the  town,"  had 
involved  Chloe  in  his  familiar  remarks  upon 
the  Duchess  of  Dewlap;  and  the  personal  re- 
spect entertained  by  Mr.  Beamish  for  Chloe 
so  strongly  approved  Alonzo's  championship 
of  her,  that  in  giving  judgment  he  laid  stress 
on  young  Alonzo's  passion  for  Chloe,  to  prove 
at  once  the  disinterestedness  of  the  assailant, 
and  the  judicial  nature  of  the  sentence,  which 
was,  that  Mr.  Ealph  Shepster  should  undergo 
banishment,  and  had  the  right  to  demand  rep- 
aration. The  latter  part  of  this  decree  as- 
sisted in  effecting  the  execution  of  the  former. 
Shepster  declined  cold  steel,  calling  it  mur- 
der, and  was  efiusive  of  nature's  logic  on  the 
subject. 

**  Because  a  man  comes  and  knocks  me 
down,  I'm  to  go  up  to  him  and  ask  him  to 
run  me  through!" 


The  Tale  of  Cliloe,  59 

His  shake  of  the  head  signified  that  he  was 
not  such  a  noodle.  Voluble  and  prolific  of 
illustration,  as  is  no  one  so  much  as  a  son  of 
Nature  inspired  to  speak  her  words  of  wis- 
dom, he  defied  the  mandate,  and  refused  him- 
self satisfaction,  until  in  the  strangest  man- 
ner possible  flights  of  white  feathers  beset 
him,  and  he  became  a  mark  for  persecution 
too  trying  for  the  friendship  of  his  friends. 
He  fled,  repeating  his  tale,  that  he  had  seen 
"  Bearaish's  Duchess,^'  and  Chloe  attending 
her,  at  an  assignation  in  the  South  Grove, 
where  a  gentleman,  unknown  to  the  Wells, 
presented  himself  to  the  adventurous  ladies, 
and  they  walked  together — a  tale  ending  with 
nods. 

Shepster's  banishment  was  one  of  those  vic- 
tories of  justice  upon  which  mankind  might 
be  congratulated  if  they  left  no  commotion 
behind.  But,  as  when  a  boy  has  been  horsed 
before  his  comrades,  dread  may  visit  them, 
3^et  is  there  likewise  deviltry  in  the  school;  and 
everywhere    over   earth  a  summary  punish- 


(50  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

ment  that  does  not  sweep  the  i^lace  clear  is 
likely  to  infect  those  it  leaves  remaining.  The 
great  law-givers,  Lycurgus,  Draco,  Solon, 
Beamish  sorrowfully  acknowledges  that  they 
have  had  recourse  to  infernal  agents,  after 
they  have  thus  purified  their  circle  of  an 
offender.  Doctors  confess  to  the  same  of 
their  physic.  The  expelling  agency  has  next 
to  be  expelled,  and  it  is  a  subtle  poison,  affect- 
ing our  spirits.  Duchess  Susan  had  now  the 
incense  of  a  victim  to  heighten  her  charms; 
like  a  treasure-laden  Spanish  galleon  for 
whom,  on  her  voyage  home  from  South 
American  waters,  our  enterprising  light- 
draught  privateers  lay  in  wait,  she  had  the 
double  attraction  of  being  desirable  and  an 
enemy.  To  watch  above  her  conscientiously 
was  a  harassing  business. 

Mr.  Beamish  sent  for  Chloe,  and  she  came 
to  him  at  once.  Her  look  was  curious;  he 
studied  it  while  they  conversed.  So  looks  one 
who  is  watching  the  sure  flight  of  an  arrow, 
or  the  happy  combinations    of  an  intrigue. 


The  Tale  of  Chhe.  61 

Saying,  *'  1  am  no  inquisitor,  child,"  he  vent- 
ured upon  two  or  three  modest  inquisitions 
with  regard  to  her  mistress.  The  title  he  had 
disguised.  Duchess  Susan  in  he  confessed  to 
rueing  as  the  principal  cause  of  the  agitation 
of  his  principality. 

'*  She  is  courted, '^  he  said,  ''  less  like  a 
citadel  waving  a  flag  than  a  hostelry  where 
the  demand  is  for  sitting-room  and  a  tankard! 
These  be  our  manners.  Yet,  I  must  own,  a 
Duchess  of  Dewlap  is  a  provocation,  and  my 
exclusive  desire  to  protect  the  name  of  my 
lord,  stands  corrected  by  the  perils  environing 
his  lady.  She  is  other  than  1  supposed  her; 
she  is,  we  will  hope,  an  excellent  good  creat- 
ure, but  too  attractive  for  moat  and  draw- 
bridge and  the  customary  defenses  to  be 
neglected.'^ 

Chloe  met  his  interrogatory  with  a  ready 
report  of  the  young  duchess's  innocence  and 
good  nature  that  pacified  Mr.  Beamish. 

*'  And  you?"  said  he. 

She  smiled  for  answer. 


62  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

That  smile  was  not  the  common  smile,  it 
was  one  of  an  eager  exultingness,  producing 
as  he  gazed  the  twitch  of  an  inquisitive  re- 
flection of  it  on  his  lips.  Such  a  smile  bids 
us  guess,  and  quickens  us  to  guess,  warns  us 
we  burn  and  speeds  our  burning,  and  so,  like 
an  angel  wafting  us  to  some  heaven-feasting 
promontory,  lifts  ns  out  of  ourselves  to  see  in 
the  universe  of  color  what  the  mouth  has  but 
pallid  speech  to  tell.  That  is  the  very  heart's 
language,  the  years  are  in  a  look,  as  mount 
and  vale  of  the  dark  land  spring  up  in  light- 
ning. 

He  checked  himself;  he  scarce  dared  to  say 
it. 

She  nodded. 

*'  You  have  seen  the  man,  Chloe?'' 

Her  smiling  broke  up  in  the  hard  lines  of 
an  ecstasy  neighboring  pain. 

*'  He  has  come:  he  is  here;  he  is  faithful; 
he  has  not  forgotten  me.  1  was  right.  I 
knew!    I  knew!" 

''  Oaseldy  has  come?" 


The  Tale  of  Cliloe.  63 

* '  He  has  come.  Do  not  ask.  To  have 
him!  to  see  him!    Mr.  Beamish,  he  is  here.'^ 

**  At  last!'' 

"  Cruel!'' 

**  Well,  Caseldy  has  come,  then!  But  now, 
friend  Cbloe,  you  should  be  made  aware  that 
the  man — " 

She  stopped  his  ears.  As  she  did  so,  Mr. 
Beamish  observed  a  thick  silken  skein  dan- 
gling from  one  hand.  Part  of  it  was  plaited, 
and  at  the  upper  end  there  was  a  knot,  it 
resembled  the  commencement  of  her  manu- 
facture of  a  whip;  she  swayed  it  to  and  fro, 
allowing  him  to  catch  and  lift  the  threads  on 
his  fingers,  for  the  purpose  of  examining  her 
work.  There  was  no  special  compliment  to 
pay,  so  he  dropped  it  without  remark. 

Their  faces  had  expressed  her  wish  to  hear 
nothing  from  him  of  Caseldy  and  his  submis- 
sion to  say  nothing. 

Her  happiness  was  too  big,  she  appeared  to 
beg  to  lie  down  with  it  on  her  bosom,  in  the 
manner  of  an  outworn  young  mother  who  has 


64  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

now  first  received  her  infant  in  her  arms  from 
the  nurse. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HuMORiKG  Chloe  with  his  usual  consider- 
ateness,  Mr.  Beamish  forebore  to  cast  a  shad- 
ow on  her  new-born  joy,  and  even  within  him- 
self to  doubt  the  security  of  its  foundation. 
Caseldy's  return  to  the  Wells  was  at  least 
some  assurance  of  his  constancy,  seeing  that 
here  they  appointed  to  meet  when  he  and 
Chloe  last  parted.  All  might  be  well,  though 
it  was  unexplained  why  he  had  not  presented 
himself  earlier.  To  the  lightest  inquiry 
Chloe's  reply  was  a  shiver  of  hai3piness. 

Moreover,  Mr.  Beamish  calculated  that 
Caseldy  would  be  a  serviceable  ally  in  com- 
manding a  proper  respect  for  her  Grace  the 
Duchess  of  Dewlap.  So  he  betook  himself 
cheerfully  to  Caseldy 's  lodgings  to  deliver  a 
message  of  welcome,  meeting,  on  his  way 
thither,  Mr.   Augustus  Camwell,  with  whom 


Tlie  Tale  of  Cliloe.  65 

he  had  a  short  conversation,  greatly  to  his  ad- 
miration of  the  enamored  young  gentleman's 
goodness  and  self-compression  in  speaking  of 
Caseldy  and  Chloe's  better  fortune.  Mr. 
Cam  well  seemed  hurried. 

Caseldy  was  not  ^t  home,  and  Mr.  Beamish 
proceeded  to  the  lodgings  of  the  duchess. 
Chloe  had  found  her  absent. 

The  two  consulted.  Mr.  Beamish  put  on  a 
serious  air,  until  Chloe  mentioned  the  pastry- 
cook's shop,  for  Duchess  Susan  had  a  sweet 
tooth;  she  loved  a  visit  to  the  pastry-cook's, 
whose  jam  tarts  were  dearer  to  her  than  his 
more  famous  hot  mutton  pies.  The  pastry- 
cook informed  Mr.  Beamish  that  her  grace 
had  been  in  his  shop,  earlier  than  usual,  as  it 
happened,  and  accompanied  by  a  foreign-look- 
ing gentleman  wearing  mustachios.  Her 
grace,  the  pastry-cook  said,  had  partaken  of 
several  tarts,  in  common  with  the  gentleman, 
who  complimented  him  upon  his  excelliug 
the  continental  confectioner.  Mr.  Beamish 
glanced  at  Chloe.     He  pursued  his  researches 


66  TJie  Tale  of  Chloe. 

down  at  the  Pump  Room,  while  she  looked 
round  the  ladies'  coffee-house.  Encountering 
again,  they  walked  back  to  the  duchess's  lodg- 
ings, where  a  band  stood  playing  in  the  road, 
by  order  of  her  grace;  but  the  duchess  was 
away,  and  had  not  been  seen  since  her  morn- 
ing's departure. 

*'  What  sort  of  character  would  you  give 
Mistress  Susan,  of  Dewlap,  from  your  per- 
sonal acquaintance  with  her?"  said  Mr.  Beam- 
ish to  Chloe,  as  they  stepped  from  the  door. 

Chloe  mused  and  said:  *'l  would  add 
*  good '  to  the  unkindest  comparison  you 
could  find  for  her." 

"But  accepting  the  comparison!"  Mr. 
Beamish  nodded,  and  revolved  upon  the  cir- 
cumstance of  their  being  very  much  in  Nat- 
ure's hands  with  Duchess  Susan,  of  whom  it 
might  be  said  that  her  character  was  good, 
yet  all  the  more  alive  to  the  temptations  be- 
setting the  spring  season.  He  allied  Chloe's 
adjective  to  a  number  of  epithets  equally  ap- 
plicable to  Nature  and  to  women,  according 


The  Tale  of  Chloe,  67 

to  current  ideas,  concluding:  "  Count,  they 
call  your  Caseldy  at  his  lodgings.  *  The 
count  he  is  out  for  an  airing.'  He  is  counted 
out.  Ah  I  You  will  make  him  drop  that 
*  count '  when  he  takes  you  from  here."' 

"  Do  not  speak  of  the  time  beyond  the 
month/'  said  Chloe,  so  urgently  on  a  rapid 
breath  as  to  cause  Mr.  Beamish  to  cast  an  in- 
quiring look  at  her. 

She  answered  it:  '*  Is  not  one  month  of 
brightness  as  much  as  we  can  ask  for?" 

The  Beau  clapped  his  elbows  complacently 
to  his  sides  in  philosophical  concord  with  her 
sentiment. 

In  the  afternoon,  on  the  Parade,  they  were 
joined  by  Mr.  Camwell,  among  groups  of 
fashionable  ladies  and  their  escorts,  pacing 
serenely,  by  medical  prescription,  for  an  ap- 
petite. As  he  did  not  comment  on  the  ab- 
sence of  the  duchess,  Mr.  Beamish  alluded  to 
it,  whereupon  he  was  informed  that  she  was 
about  the  meadows,  and  had  been  there  for 
some  hours. 


68  The  Tale  of  CMoe. 

"  Not  unguarded/^  he  replied  to  Mr. 
Beamish. 

**  Aha!"  quoth  the  latter,  '*  we  have  an 
Argus!"  and  as  the  duchess  was  not  on  the 
heights,  and  the  sun's  rays  were  mild  in 
cloud,  he  agreed  to  his  young  friend's  propo- 
sition that  they  should  advance  to  meet  her. 
Chloe  walked  with  them,  but  her  face  was 
disdainful;  at  the  stiles  she  gave  her  hand  to 
Mr.  Beamish,  she  did  not  address  a  word  to 
Mr.  Camwell,  and  he  knew  the  reason. 
Nevertheless,  he  maintained  his  air  of  soldierly 
resignation  to  the  performance  of  duty,  and 
held  his  head  like  a  gentleman  unable  to  con- 
ceive the  ignominy  of  having  played  spy. 
Chloe  shrunk  from  him. 

Duchess  Susan  was  distinguished  coming 
across  a  broad  uncut  meadow,  tirra-lirraing 
beneath  a  lark,  Caseldy  in  attendance  on  her. 
She  stopped  short  and  spoke  to  him,  then 
came  forward,  crying  ingenuously: 

*'  Oh,  Mr.  Beamish,  isn't  this  just  what 
you  wanted  me  to  do?" 


Tlie  Tale  of  Cldoe,  69 

"  No,  madame/'  said  he;  "  you  had  my 
injunctions  to  the  contrary.'^ 

"  La!''  she  exclaimed.  "  I  thought  I  was 
to  run  about  in  the  fields  now  and  then  to 
preserve  my  simplicity.  I  know  I  was  told 
so,  and  who  told  me?'' 

Mr.  Beamish  bowed  effusively  to  the  intro- 
duction of  Oaseldy,  whose  fingers  he  touched 
in  sign  of  the  renewal  of  acquaintance,  and 
with  a  laugh  addressed  the  duchess: 

*'  Madame,  you  remind  me  of  a  tale  of  my 
infancy.  I  had  a  juvenile  comrade  of  the 
tenderest  age,  by  name  Tommy  Plumston, 
and  he  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  intimacy  with 
a  component  urchin,  yclept  Jimmy  dungeon, 
with  which  adventurous  roamer,  in  defiance  of 
his  mother's  interdict  against  his  leaving  the 
house  for  a  minute  during  her  absence  from 
home,  he  departed  on  a  tour  of.  the  district, 
resulting,  perhaps  as  a  consequence  of  its 
completeness,  in  this,  that  at  a  distance  com- 
puted at  four  miles  from  the  maternal  man- 
sion, he  perceived  his  beloved  mamma  with 


70  The  Tale  of  Cliloe. 

sufficient  clearness  to  feel  sure  that  she  like- 
wise had  seen  him.  Tommy  consulted  Jim- 
my, and.  then  he  sprung  forward  on  a  run  to 
his  frowning  mamma,  and  delivered  himself 
in  these  artless  words,  which  I  repeat  as  they 
were  uttered,  to  give  you  the  flavor  of  the  in- 
nocent babe.  He  said:  '  I  frink  I  frought  I 
hear  you  call  me,  ma;  and  Jimmy  Clungeon, 
he  frought  he  frink  so  too!'  So,  you  see,  the 
pair  of  them  were  under  the  impression  that 
they  were  doing  right.  There  is  a  delicate 
distinction  in  the  tenses  of  each  frinking 
where  the  other  frought,  enough  in  itself  to 
stamp  sincerity  upon  the  statement."" 

Caseldy  said:  "  The  veracity  of  a  boy  pos- 
sessing a  friend  named  Clungeon  is  beyond 
contest.'' 

Duchess  Susan  opened  her  eyes. 

''  Four  miles  from  home.  And  what  did 
his  mother  do  to  him?" 

"  Tommy's  mamma,"  said  Mr.  Beamish, 
and  with  the  resplendent  license  of  the  period, 
which  continued   still    upon   tolerable  terms 


The  Tale  of  Chloe.  71 

with  nature,  under  the  compromise  of  dec- 
orous "  Oh,  fie!''  flatly  declared  the  thing 
she  did.     . 

**  I  fancy,  sir,  that  I  caught  sight  of  your 
figure  on  the  hill  yonder  about  an  hour  or  so 
earlier, '^  said  Oaseldy  to  Mr.  Cam  well. 

"If  it  was  at  the  time  when  you  were 
issuing  from  that  wood,  sir,  your  surmise  is 
correct,''  said  the  young  gentleman. 

"  You  are  long-sighted,  sir." 

"1  am,  sir." 

*'  And  so  am  I." 

"  Am  I?"  said  Chloe. 

"  Our  Chloe  will  distinguish  you  accurately 
at  a  mile,  and  has  done  it,"  observed  Mr. 
Beamish. 

"  One  guesses  tiptoe  on  a  suspicion,  and  if 
one  is  wrong  it  passes,  and  if  one  is  right  it  is 
a  miracle,"  she  said,  and  raised  her  voice  on 
a  song  to  quit  the  subject. 

*'Ay,  ay,  Chloe;  so  then  you  had  a  sus- 
picion, you  rogue,  the  day  we  had  the  pleas- 


72  TJie  Tale  of  Cldoe. 

ure  of  meeting  the  duchess,  had  you?^'  Mr. 
Beamish  persisted. 

Duchess  Susan  interposed. 

*'  Such  a  pretty  song!  and  you  to  stop  her, 
sirr^ 

Caseldy  took  up  the  air. 

"Oh,  you  two  together!"  she  cried.  "I 
do  love  hearing  music  in  the  fields;  it  is 
heavenly.  Bands  in  the  town  and  voices  in  the 
green  fields,  1  say!  Oouldn^t  you  join  Chloe, 
Mr. — count — sir,  before  we  come  among 
the  people,  here  where  it's  all  so  nice  and 
still.  Music!  and  my  heart  does  begin  so  to 
pit-a-pat.     Do  you  sing,  Mr.  Alonzo?" 

"  Poorly,"  the  young  gentleman  replied. 

"But  the  count  can  sing,  and  Chloe's  a 
real  angel  when  she  sings,  and  won't  you, 
dear?"  she  implored  Chloe,  to  whom  Caseldy 
addressed  a  prelude  with  a  bow  and  a  flourish 
of  the  hand. 

Chloe's  voice  flew  forth.  Caseldy 's  rich 
masculine  matched  it.  The  song  was  gay;  he 
snapped    his  finger  at  intervals    in    foreign 


'    The  Tale  of  Cliloe,  73 

style,  siDging  big-chested,  with  full  notes  and 
a  fine  abandonment,  and  the  quickest  sus- 
ceptibility to  his  fair  companion's  cunning 
modulations,  and  an  eye  for  Duchess  Susan's 
rapture. 

Mr.  Beamish  and  Mr.  Camwell  applauded 
them. 

**  I  never  can  tell  what  to  say  when  I'm 
brimming;"  the  duchess  let  fall  a  sigh. 
*'And  he  can  play  the  flute,  Mr.  Beamish. 
He  promised  me  he  would  go  into  the  or- 
chestra and  play  a  bit  at  one  of  your  nice 
evening  delicious  concerts,  and  that  will  be 
nice — oh!" 

*'  He  promised  you,  madame,  did  he  so?" 
said  the  Beau.  *'  Was  it  on  your  way  to  the 
Wells  that  he  promised  you?" 

''On  my  way  to  the  Wells!"  she  ex- 
claimed, softly.  "  Why,  how  could  anybody 
promise  me  a  thing  before  ever  he  saw  me?  1 
call  that  a  strange  thing  to  ask  a  person. 
No,  to-day,  while  we  were  promenading;  and 
1  should  hear  him  sing,  he  said.     He  does  ad- 


74  The  Tale  of  ChJoe, 

mire  his  Chloe  so.  AVhy,  no  wonder,  is  it, 
now?  She  can  do  everything;  knit,  sew, 
sing,  dance— and  talk!  She's  never  uneasy 
for  a  word.  She  makes  whole  scenes  of 
things  go  round  you,  like  a  picture  peep- 
show,  I  tell  her.  And  always  cheerful.  She 
hasn't  a  minute  of  grumps;  and  Pm  some- 
times a  dish  of  stale  milk  fit  only  for  pigs. 
With  your  late  hours  here,  I'm  sure  I  want 
tickling  in  the  morning,  and  Chloe  carols  me 
one  of  her  songs,  and  I  say,  '  There's,  my 
bird!"' 

Mr.  Beamish  added:  '*  And  you  will  re- 
member she  has  a  heart." 

''  I  should  think  so!"  said  the  duchess. 

**  A  heart,  madame!" 

"  Why,  what  else?" 

Nothing  other,  the  Beau,  by  his  aspect,  was 
constrained  to  admit. 

He  appeared  puzzled  by  this  daughter  of 
Nature  in  a  coronet;  and  more  on  her  re- 
marking: 

*'  You  know  about  her  heart,  Mr.  Beamish. " 


TJiG  Tale  of  CJiloe.  75 

He  acquiesced,  for  of  course  he  knew  of  her 
life-long  devotion  to  Caseldy;  but  there  was 
archness  in  her  tone.  However,  he  did  not 
expect  a  woman  of  her  education  to  have  the 
tone  perfectly  concordant  with  the  circum- 
stances. Speakiug  tentatively  of  Caseldy's 
handsome  face  and  figure,  he  was  pleased  to 
hear  the  duchess  say: 

*'SoIteIlChloe.^' 

"  Wei]/'  said  he,  '*  we  must  consider  them 
united;  they  are  one.'' 

Duchess  Susan  replied: 

"  That's  what  1  tell  him;  she  will  do  any- 
thing you  wish." 

He  repeated  these  words  with  an  interjec- 
tion, and  decided  in  his  mind  that  they  were 
merely  silly.  She  was  a  real  shepherdess  by 
birth  and  nature,  requiring  a  strong  guard, 
over  her  attractions  on  account  of  her  sim- 
plicity; such  was  his  reading  of  the  problem; 
he  had  conceived  it  at  the  first  sight  of  her, 
and  always  recurred  to  it  under  the  influence 
of  her  artless  eyes,  though  his  theories  upon 


76  Tlie  Tale  of  Chloe. 

men  and  women  were  astute,  and  that  cav- 
alier perceived  by  long-sighted  Chole  at  Duch- 
ess Susan's  coach  window  perturbed  him  at 
whiles.  Habitually  to  be  anticipating  the 
simpleton  in  a  particular  person  is  the  sure 
way  of  being  sometimes  the  dupe,  as  he  would 
not  have  been  the  last  to  warn  a  neophyte; 
but  abstract  wisdom  is  in  need  of  an  unap- 
peased  suspicion  of  much  keenness  of  edge,  if 
we  would  have  it  alive  to  cope  with  artless  eyes 
and  our  prepossessed  fancy  of  their  artless ness. 

"  You  talk  of  Chloe  to  him?"  he  said. 

She  answered:  "Yes,  that  I  do.  And  he 
does  love  her!  1  like  to  hear  him.  He  is  one 
of  the  gentlemen  who  don't  make  me  feel 
timid  with  them. " 

She  received  a  short  lecture  on  the  virtues 
of  timidity  in  preserving  the  sex  from  danger; 
after  which,  considering  that  the  lady  who 
does  not  feel  timid  with  a  particular  cavalier 
has  had  no  sentiment  awakened,  he  relin- 
quished his  place  to  Mr.  Camwell,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  administer  the  probe  to  Caseldy. 


The  TaU  of  Chloe,  77 

That  gentleman  was  communicatively  can- 
did. Chloe  had  left  him,  and  he  related  how, 
summoned  home  to  England  and  compelled 
to  settle  a  dispute  threatening  a  lawsuit,  he 
had  regretfully  to  abstain  from  visiting  the 
Wells  for  a  season,  not  because  of  any  fear  of 
the  attractions  of  play — he  had  subdued  the 
frailty  of  the  desire  to  play— but  because  he 
deemed  it  due  to  his  Chloe  to  bring  her  an 
untroubled  face,  and  he  wished  first  to  be  the 
better  of  the  serious  annoyances  besetting 
him.  For  some  similar  reason  he  had  not 
written;  he  wished  to  feast  on  her  surprise. 

''  And  I  had  my  reward,^'  he  said,  as  if  he 
had  been  the  person  principally  to  sufier 
through  that  abstinence.  *'  I  found — I  may 
say  it  to  you,  Mr.  Beamish — love  in  her  eyes. 
Divine  by  nature,  she  is  one  of  the  immortals, 
both  in  appearance  and  in  steadfastness. '* 

They  referred  to  Duchess  Susan.  Caseldy 
reluctantly  owned  that  it  would  be  an  un- 
kindness  to  remove  Chloe  from  attendance  on 
her  during  the  short  remaining  term  of  her 


78  The  Tale  of  Cliloe, 

stay  at  the  Wells,  and  so  he  had  not  proposed 
it,  he  said,  for  the  duchess  was  a  child,  an  in- 
nocent, not  stupid  by  any  means;  but,  of 
course,  her  transplanting  from  an  inferior  to 
an  exalted  position  put  her  under  disadvan- 
tages. 

Mr.  Beamish  spoke  of  the  difficulties  of  his 
post  as  guardian,  and  also  of  the  strange  cav- 
alier seen  at  her  carriage  window  by  Chloe. 

Caseldy  smiled  and  said:  "  If  there  was  one 
— and  Chloe  is  rather  long-sighted — we  can 
hardly  expect  her  to  confess  it/' 

**  Why  not,  sir,  if  she  be  this  piece  of  inno- 
cence ?''  Mr.  Beamish  was  led  to  inquire. 

"  She  fears  you,  sir,''  Caseldy  answered. 
"  You  have  inspired  her  with  an  extraordi- 
nary fear  of  you." 

*'  I  have?"  said  the  Beau;  it  had  been  his 
endeavor  to  inspire  it,  and  he  swelled  some- 
what, rather  with  relief  at  the  thought  of  his 
possessing  a  power  to  control  his  delicate 
charge  than  with  our  vanity;  yet  would  it  be 
audacious  to  say  that  there  was  not  a  dose  of 


The  Tale  of  Cliloe,  79 

the  latter.  He  was  a  very  human  man;  and 
he  had,  as  we  have  seen,  his  ideas  of  the 
effect  of  the  impression  of  fear  upon  the 
hearts  of  women.  Something,  in  any  case, 
caused  him  to  forget  the  cavalier. 

They  were  drawn  to  the  three  preceding 
them  by  a  lively  dissension  between  Chloe 
aad  Mr.  Camwell. 

Duchess  Susan  explained  it  in  her  blunt 
style: 

*'  She  wants  him  to  go  away  home,  and  he 
says  he  will,  if  she'll  give  him  that  double 
skein  of  silk  she  swings  about,  and  she  says 
she  won't,  let  him  ask  as  long  as  he  pleases; 
so  he  says  he  sha'n't  go,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't 
see  why  he  should;  and  she  says  he  may  stay, 
but  he  sha'n't  have  her  necklace,  as  she  calls 
it.  So  Mr.  Camwell  snatches  it,  and  Chloe  fires 
up.  Gracious,  can't  she  frown! — at  him. 
She  never  frowns  at  anybody  but  him. " 

Caseldy  attempted  persuasion  on  Mr.  Cam- 
well's  behalf.  With  his  mouth  at  Chloe's 
ear,  he  said : 


80  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

"  Give  it;  let  the  poor  fellow  have  his  me- 
mento; dispatch  him  with  it/' 

*'  I  can  hear;  and  that  is  really  kind!''  ex- 
claimed Duchess  Susan. 

*'  Eather  a  missy-missy  school-girl  sort  of 
necklace,"  Mr.  Beamish  observed;  *'but  he 
might  have  it,  without  the  dismissal,  for  I 
can  not  consent  to  lose  Alonzo.  No,  ma- 
dame;''  he  nodded  at  the  duchess. 

Caseldy  continued  his  whisper : 

''  You  can't  think  of  wearing  a  thing  like 
that  about  your  neck?" 

"  Indeed,"  said  Chloe,  "  I  think  of  it." 

"  Why,  what  fashion  have  you  over  here?" 
;    '*  It  is  not  yet  a  fashion,"  she  said. 

'*  A  silken  circlet  will  not  well  become  any 
precious  pendant  that  1  know  of." 

'*  A  bag  of  dust  is  not  a  very  precious 
pendant,"  she  said. 

**  Oh,  a  memento  mori  /"  cried  he. 

And  she  answered,  **  Yes." 

Se  rallied  her  for  her  superstition,  pursu- 
ing: 


The  Tale  of  Chloe.  81 

'*  Surely,  my  love,  'tis  a  cheap  riddance  of 
a  pestilent,  intrusive  jalonx,  "Whip  it  into 
his  hands  for  a  mittimus.'' 

"  Does  his  presence  distress  you?"  she 
asked. 

"  I  will  own  that  to  be  always  having  the 
fellow  dogging  us,  with  his  dejected  leer,  is 
not  agreeable.  He  watches  us  now,  because 
my  lips  are  close  by  your  cheek.  He  should 
be  absent;  he  is  one  too  many.  Speed  him 
on  his  voyage  with  the  souvenir  he  asks  for.'' 

'*  I  keep  it  for  a  journey  of  my  own  which 
I  may  have  to  take,"  said  Chloe. 

"  With  me?'' 

'*  You  will  follow;  you  can  not  help  follow- 
ing me,  Caseldy." 

He  speculated  on  her  front.  She  was  ten- 
derly smiling. 

'*  You  are  happy,  Chloe?" 

"  1  have  never  known  such  happiness,"  she 
said.     The  brilliancy  of  her  eyes  confirmed  it. 

He  glanced  over  at  Duchess  Susan,  who  was 
like  a  sunflower  in  the  sun.     His  glance  lin- 


82  The  Tale  of  CJiloe, 

gered  a  moment.  Her  abundant  and  glow- 
ing young  charms  were  the  richest  fascination 
an  eye  like  his  could  dwell  on. 

'*  That  is  right/'  said  he.  '*  We  will  be 
perfectly  happy  till  the  month  ends.  And 
after  it?  But  get  us  rid  of  Monsieur  le  Jeune; 
toss  him  that  trifle;  I  spare  him  that.  'Twill 
be  bliss  to  him,  at  the  cost  of  a  bit  of  silk 
thread  to  us.  Besides,  if  we  keep  him  to  cure 
him  of  his  passion  here,  might  it  not  be — 
these  boys  veer  suddenly,  like  the  winds  of 
Albion,  from  one  fair  object  to  'tother — at 
the  cost  of  the  precious  and  simple  lady  you 
are  guarding?  1  merely  hint.  These  two 
affect  one  another,  as  though  it  could  be. 
She  speaks  of  him.  It  shall  be  as  you  please; 
but  a  trifle  like  that,  my  Chloe,  to  be  rid  of  a 
green  eye!'' 

"  You  much  wish  him  gone?"  she  said. 

He  shrugged.    "  The  fellow  is  in  our  way." 

**  You  think  him  a  little  perilous  for  my 
innocent  lady?" 

**  Candidly,  1  do." 


The  Tide  of  Cliloe.  83 

She  stretched  the  half-plaited  silken  rope  in 
her  two  hands  to  try  the  strength  of  it,  made 
a  second  knot,  and  consigned  it  to  her  pocket. 

At  once  she  wore  her  liveliest  play-fellow 
air,  in  which  character  no  one  was  so  enchant- 
ing as  Chloe  could  be,  for  she  became  the 
comrade  of  men  without  forfeit  of  her  station 
among  sage,  sweet  ladies,  and  was  like  a  well- 
mannered  sparkling  boy,  to  whom  his  admir- 
ing seniors  have  given  the  lead  in  sallies, 
whims,  and  flights;  but  pleasanter  than  a  boy, 
the  soft  hues  of  her  sex  toned  her  frolicsome 
spirit;  she  seemed  her  sex^s  deputy,  to  tell  the 
coarser  where  they  could  meet,  as  on  a  bridge 
above  the  torrent  separating  them,  gayly  for 
interchange  of  the  best  of  either,  unfired  and 
untempted  by  fire,  yet  with  all  the  elements 
which  make  fire  burn  to  animate  their  hearts. 

*'  Lucky  the  man  who  wins  for  himself  that 
life-long  cordial  !^^  Mr.  Beamish  said  to  Duch- 
ess Susan. 

She  had  small  comprehension  of  metaphor- 
ical phrases,  but  she  was  quick  at  reading 


84  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

faces;  and  comparing  the  enthusiasm  on  the 
face  of  the  Beau  with  Caseldy's  look  of 
troubled  wonderment  and  regret,  she  pitied 
the  lover  conscious  of  not  having  the  larger 
share  of  his  mistress's  affections.  When  pres- 
ently he  looked  at  her,  the  tender-hearted 
woman  could  have  cried  for  very  compassion, 
so  sensible  did  he  show  himself  of  Chloe's 
preference  of  the  other. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

That  evening  Duchess  Susan  played  at  the 
faro  table  and  lost  eight  hundred  pounds, 
through  desperation  at  the  loss  of  twenty. 
After  encouraging  her  to  proceed  to  this  ex- 
tremity, Caseldy  checked  her.  He  was  con- 
ducting her  out  of  the  play-room  when  a 
couple  of  young  squires  of  the  Shepster  order, 
and  primed  with  wine,  intercepted  her  to  pre- 
sent their  condolences,  which  they  performed 
with  exaggerated  gestures,  intended  for  broad 
mimicry  of  the  courtliness  imported  from  the 


The  Tale  of  Chios.  85 

Continent,  and  a  very  dulcet  harping  on  the 
popular  variations  of  her  Christian  name,  not 
forgetting  her  singular  title,  **  my  lovely, 
lovely  Dewlap!'' 

She  was  excited  and  stunned  by  her  im- 
mediate experience  in  the  transfer  of  money, 
and  she  said: 

'*  I'm-  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  want/^ 

*'  Yes!"  cried  they,  striking  their  bosoms 
as  guitars,  and  attemj^ting  the  posture  of  the 
thrummer  on  the  instrument;  *'  she  knows. 
She  does  know.  Handsome  Susie  knows  what 
we  want." 

And  one  ejaculated  mellifluously,  "  Oh!'^ 
and  the  other,  '*  Ah!"  in  flagrant  derision  of 
the  foreign  ways  they  produced  in  boorish 
burlesque — a  self-consolatory  and  a  common 
trick  of  the  boor. 

Caselcly  was  behind.  He  pushed  forward 
and  bowed  to  them.  *'  Sirs,  will  you  mention 
to  me  what  you  want?" 

He  said  it  with  a  look  that  meant  steel.  It 
cooled  them  sufficiently  to  let  him  place  the 


86  The  Tale  of  CJiloe, 

duchess  under  the  protectorship  of  Mr.  Beam- 
ish, then  entering  from  another  room  with 
Chloe;  whereupon  the  pair  of  rustic  bucks 
retired  to  reinvigorate  their  valiant  blood. 

Mr.  Beamish  had  seen  that  there  was  cause 
for  gratitude  to  Caseldy,  to  whom  he  said, 
"  She  has  lost?*^  and  he  seemed  satisfied  on 
hearing  the  amount  of  the  loss,  and  com- 
missioned Caseldy  to  escort  the  ladies  to 
their  lodgings  at  once,  observing,  ' '  Adieu, 
count.  ^' 

'*  You  will  find  my,  foreign  title  of  use  to 
you  here,  after  a  bout  or  two,''  was  the  reply. 

"  No  bouts,  if  possibly  to  be  avoided; 
though  I  perceive  how  the  flavor  of  your 
countship  may  spread  a  wholesome  alarm 
among  our  rurals,  who  will  readily  have  at 
you  with  fists,  but  relish  not  the  tricky  cold 
weapon.'' 

Mr.  Beamish  haughtily  bowed  the  duchess 
away. 

Caseldy  seized  the  opportunity  while  hand- 
ing her  into  her  sedan  to  say: 


The  Tah  of  ChJoe.  87 

"  We  will  try  the  fortune-teller  for  a  lucky 
day  to  have  our  revenge/' 

She  answered:  **  Oh,  don't  talk  to  me  about 
playing  again  ever;  I'm  nigh  on  a  clean 
pocket,  and  never  knew  such  a  sinful  place  as 
this.  1  feel  I've  tumbled  into  a  ditch.  And 
there's  Mr.  Beamish,  all  top  when  he  bows  to 
me.     You're  keeping  Chloe  waiting,  sir." 

•'  Where  was  she  while  we  were  at  the 
table?" 

'*  Sure  she  was  with  Mr.  Beamish." 
I    "Ah!"  he  groaned. 

"  The  poor  soul  is  in  despair  over  her  losses 
to-night,"  he  turned  from  the  boxed-up  duch- 
ess to  remark  to  Chloe.  **  Give  her  a  com- 
fortable cry  and  a  few  moral  maxims." 

**I  will,"  she  said.  **  You  love  me, 
Caseldy?" 

*'  Love  you?  I?  Your  own?  What  as- 
surance would  you  have?" 

*'  None,  dear  friend." 

Here  was  a  woman  easily  deceived. 

In  the  hearts  of  certain  men,  owing  to  an 


88  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

intellectual  contempt  of  easy  dupes,  compunc- 
tion in  deceiving  is  diminished  by  the  lightness 
of  their  task;  and  that  soft  confidence  which 
will  often,  if  but  passingly,  bid  betrayers  re- 
consider the  charms  of  the  fair  soul  they  are 
abandoning  commends  these  armored  knights 
to  pursue  with  redoubled  earnest  the  fruitful 
ways  of  treachery.  Their  feelings  are  warm 
for  their  prey,  moreover,  and  choosing  to 
judge  their  victim  by  the  present  warmth  of 
their  feelings,  they  can  at  will  be  hurt,  even 
to  being  scandalized,  by  a  coldness  that  does 
not  waken  one  suspicion  of  them.  Jealousy 
would  have  a  chance  of  arresting,  for  it  is  not 
impossible  to  tease  them  back  to  avowed  alle- 
giance, but  sheer  indifference  also  has  a 
stronger  hold  on  them  than  a  dull,  blind 
trustfulness.  They  hate  the  burden  it  im- 
poses, the  blind  aspect  is  only  touching  enough 
to  remind  them  of  the  burden,  and  they  hate 
it  for  that,  and  for  the  enormous  presumption 
of  the  belief  that  they  are  everlastingly  bound 
to  such  an  imbecile.     She  walks  about  with 


Tlie  Tale  of  CUoe.  89 

her  eyes  shut,  expecting  not  to  stumble,  and 
when  she  does,  am  1  to  blame?  The  injured 
man  asks  it  in  the  course  of  his  reasoning. 

He  recurs  to  his  victim's  merits,  hut  only 
compassionately,  and  the  compassion  is 
chilled  by  the  thought  that  she  may  in  the 
end  start  across  his  path  to  thwart  him. 
Thereat  he  is  drawn  to  think  of  the  prize  she 
may  rob  him  of;  and  when  one  woman  is  an 
obstacle,  the  other  shines  desirable  as  life  be- 
yond death,  he  must  have  her;  he  sees  her  in 
the  hue  of  his  desire  for  her,  and  the  ostacle 
in  that  of  his  repulsion.  Cruelty  is  no  more 
than  the  man's  effort  to  win  the  wished  ob- 
ject. 

She  should  not  leave  it  to  his  imagination 
to  conceive  that  in  the  end  the  blind  may 
awaken  to  thwart  him.  Better  for  her  to  cast 
him  hence,  or  let  him  know  that  she  will  do 
battle  to  keep  him.  But  the  pride  of  a  love 
that  has  hardened  in  the  faithfulness  of  love 
can  not  always  be  wise  on  trial. 

Caseldy  walked  considerably  in  the  rear  of 


90  The  Tale  of  Cliloe, 

the  couple  of  chairs.  He  saw  on  his  way 
what  was  coming.  His  two  young  squires 
were  posted  at  Duchess  Susan's  door  when  she 
arriv^ed,  and  he  received  a  blow  from  one  of 
them  in  clearing  a  way  for  her.  She  plucked 
at  his  hand.  "Have  they  hurt  you?"  she 
asked. 

"  Think  of  me  to-night  thanking  them  and 
Heaven  for  this,  my  darling/'  he  replied, 
with  a  pressure  that  lighted  the  flying  moment 
to  kindle  the  after  hours. 

Chloe  had  taken  help  of  one  of  her  bearers 
to  jump  out.  She  stretched  a  finger  at  the 
unruly  intruders,  crying  sternly:  **  There  is 
blood  on  you — come  not  nigh  me!''  the  loftiest 
harangue  would  not,  have  been  so  cunning  to 
touch  their  wits.  They  stared  at  each  other 
in  the  clear  moonlight.  Which  of  them  had 
blood  on  him?  As  they  had  not  been  for 
blood,  but  for  rough  fun,  and  something  to 
boast  of  next  day,  they  gesticulated  accoiding 
to  the  first  instructions  of  the  dancing-master, 
by  way  of  gallantry,  and  were  out  of  Caseldy's 


The  Tale  of  Cliloe,  91 

path  when  he  placed  himself  at  his  liege  lady's 
service. 

'*  Take  no  notice  of  them,  dear/'  she  said. 

''No,  no,"  said  he;  and  "  AYliat  is  it?" 
and  his  hoarse  accent  and  shaking  clasp  of  her 
arm  sickened  her  to  the  sensation  of  approach- 
ing death. 

Upstairs  Duchess  Susan  made  a  show  of  em- 
bracing her.  Both  were  trembling.  The 
duchess  ascribed  her  condition  to  those  dread- 
ful men. 

*'  What  makes  them  be  at  me  so?"  she 
said. 

And  Chloe  said:  "Because  you  are  beauti- 
ful." 

''  I  am?" 

**  You  are." 

*'Iam?" 

"Very  beautiful;  young  and  beautiful; 
beautiful  in  the  bud.  You  will  learn  to  ex- 
cuse them,  madame." 

"  But,  Chloe — "  The  duchess  shut  her 
mouth.     Out  of  a  languid  reverie  she  sighed: 


92  TU  Tale  of  Cliloe. 

*'  1  suppose  I  must  be.  My  duke — oh,  don't 
talk  of  him!  Dear  man!  he's  in  bed  and  fast 
asleep  long  before  this.  I  wonder  how  he 
came  to  let  me  come  here.  1  did  bother  him, 
I  know.  Am  1  very,  "very  beautiful,  Chloe,  so 
that  men  can't  help  themselves?" 

'*  Very,  madame." 
p  "  There,  good-night.     I  want  to  be  in  bed, 
and  I  can't  kiss  you  because  you  keep  calling 
me  madame,  and  freeze  me  to  icicles;  but  I 
do  love  you,  Chloe. " 

*'  I  am  sure  you  do." 

**  I'm  quite  certain  I  do.  I  know  I  never 
mean  harm.  But  how  are  we  women  ex- 
pected to  behave,  then?  Oh,  I'm  unhappy,  I 
am!" 

'*  You  must  abstain  from  playing." 

**  It's  that!  I've  lost  my  money — I  forgot. 
And  I  shall  have  to  confess  it  to  my  duke, 
though  he  warned  me.  Old  men  hold  their 
fingers  up — so.  One  finger,  and  you  never 
forget  the  sight  of  it,  never.  It's  a  round 
finger,  like  the  handle  of  a  jug,  and  won't 


Tlie  Tale  of  Cliloe,  93 

point  at  you  when  they're  lecuring,  and  the 
skin's  like  an  old  coat  on  a  gaffer's  shoulders— 
or,  Chloe!  just  like,  when  you  look  at  the 
uail,  a  rumpled  counterpane  up  to  the  face  of 
a  corpse.  I  declare,  it's  just  like!  I  feel  as 
if  1  didn't  mind  talking  of  corpses  to-night. 
And  my  money's  gone,  and  I  don't  much 
mind.  I'm  a  wild  girl  again,  handsomer  than 
when  that — he  is  a  dear,  kind,  good  old  noble- 
man, with  his  funny  old  finger:  '  Susan! 
»Susan!'  I'm  no  worse  than  others.  Every- 
body plays  here;  everybody  superior.  Why, 
you  have  played,  Chloe." 

"  Never!" 

"  I've  heard  you  say  you  played  once,  and 
a  bigger  stake  it  was,  you  said,  than  anybody 
ever  did  j^lay." 

*'  Not  money." 

**  What  then?" 

"My  life." 

*'  Goodness — yes!  1  understand.  I  under- 
stand everything  to-night — men  too.  So  you 
did!      They're    not    so    shamefully  wicked. 


94  The  Tale  of  Cliloe. 

Oliloe.  Because  I  can't  see  the  wrong  of  hu- 
man nature-^if  we're  diacreet,  1  mean.  Now 
and  then  a  country  dance  and  a  game,  and 
home  to  bed  and  dreams.  There's  no  harm 
in  that,  I  vow.  And  that's  why  you  stayed  at 
this  place.     You  like  it,  Chloe?" 

"  I  am  used  to  it." 

'*  But  when  you're  married  to  Count 
Caseldy  you'll  go?" 

"Yes,  then." 

She  uttered  it  so  joylessly  that  Duchess 
Susan  added,  with  intense  affectionateness : 

*'  You're  not  obliged  to  marry  him,  dear 
Chloe." 

'\Nor  he  me,  madame." 

The  duchess  caught  at  her  impulsively  to 
kiss  her,  and  said  she  would  undress  herself, 
as  she  wished  to  be  alone. 

From  that  night  she  was  a  creature  in- 
flamed. 


The  Tale  of  Cliloe,  95 


CHAPTER  Vll. 
The  total  disappearance  of  the  pair  of 
heroes  who  had  been  the  latest  in  the  con- 
spiracy to  vex  his  delicate  charge,  gave  Mr. 
Beamish  a  high  opinion  of  Oaseldy  as  an  as- 
sistant in  such  an  office  as  he  held.  They  had 
gone,  and  nothing  more  was  heard  of  them. 
Oaseldy  confined  his  observations  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  remark  that  he  had  employed  the 
best  means  to  be  rid  of  that  kind  of  worthies, 
and  whether  their  souls  had  fled  or  only  their 
bodies,  was  unknown.  But  the  duchess  had 
quiet  promenades  with  Oaseldy  to  guard  her, 
while  Mr.  Beamish  counted  the  remaining  days 
of  her  visit  with  the  impatience  of  a  man  hav- 
ing cause  to  cast  eye  on  a  clock.  For  Duch- 
ess Susan  was  not  very  manageable  now,  she 
had  fits  of  insurgency,  and  plainly  said  that 
her  time  was  short,  and  she  meant  to  do  as  she 
liked,  go  where  she  liked,  play  when  she  liked, 
and  be  an  independent  woman — if  she  was  so 


96  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

soon  to  be  taken  away  and  boxed  in  a  castle 
that  was  only  a  bigger  sedan. 

Caseldy  protested  he  was  as  helpless  as  the 
Beau.  He  amusingly  described  the  annoyance 
of  his  incessant  running  about  at  her  heels  in 
all  directions,  and  suggested  that  she  must 
be  beating  the  district  to  recover  her  *'  strange 
cavalier  '^  of  whom,  or  of  one  that  had  ridden 
beside  her  carriage  half  a  day  on  her  journey 
to  the  Wells,  he  said  she  had  dropped  a  sort  of 
hint.  He  complained  of  the  impossibility  of 
his  getting  an  hour  in  privacy  with  his 
Chloe. 

"And  I,  accustomed  to  consult  with  her, 
see  too  little  of  her,''  said  Mr.  Beamish.  ''  I 
shall  presently  be  seeing  nothing,  and  already 
I  am  sensible  of  my  loss.'' 

He  represented  his  case  to  Duchess  Susan: 
that  she  was  forever  driving  out  long  distances 
and  taking  Chloe  from  him,  when  his  occupa- 
tion precluded  his  accompanying  them;  and  as 
Chloe  soon  was  to  be  lost  to  him  for  good,^he 
deeply  felt  her  absence. 


The  Tale  of  Gliloe.  97 

The  duchess  flung  him  enigmatical  re- 
joinders. 

"  You  can  change  all  that,  Mr.  Beamish,  if 
you  like,  and  you  know  you  can.  Oh,  yes, 
you  can.  But  you  like  being  a  butterfly,  and 
when  you've  made  ladies  pale  you're  happy; 
and  there  they're  to  stick  and  wither  for  you. 
Never!  I've  that  pride.  I  may  be  worried, 
but  I'll  never  sink  to  green  and  melancholy 
for  a  man. " 

She  bridled  at  herself  in  a  mirror,  wherein 
not  a  sign  of  paleness  was  reflected. 

Mr.  Beamish  meditated,  and  he  thought  it 
prudent  to  speak  to  Caseldy  manfully  of  her 
childish  suspicions,  lest  she  should  perchance 
in  like  manner  perturb  the  lover's  mind. 

"  Oh,  make  your  mind  easy,  my  dear  sir,  as 
far  as  I  am  concerned,"  said  Caseldy.  "  But, 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  1  think  I  can  interpret 
her  creamy  ladyship's  innuendoes  a  little 
differently  and  quite  as  clearly.  For  my  part, 
I  prefer  the  pale  to  the  blows,  and  I  stake  my 
right    hand  on  Chloe's  fidelity.      Whatever 


98  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

harm  I  may  have  the  senseless  cruelty — mis- 
fortune, I  may  rather  call  it — to  do  that 
heavenly  minded  woman  in  our  days  to  come, 
none  shall  say  of  me  that  I  was  ever  for  an  in- 
stant guilty  of  the  baseness  of  doubting  her 
purity  and  constancy,  ^nd,  sir,  1  will  add 
that  I  could  perfectly  rely  also  on  your  honor/' 

Mr.  Beamish  bowed.  *'  You  do  but  do  me 
justice.     But,  say,  what  interpretation?^' 

'*  She  began  by  fearing  you,''  said  Caseldy, 
creating  a  stare  that  was  followed  by  a  frown. 
*'  She  fancies  you  neglect  her.  Perhaps  she 
has  a  woman's  suspicion  that  you  do  it  to  try 
her." 

Mr.  Beamish  frenetically  cited  his  many  oc- 
cupations. 

**  How  can  I  be  ever  dancing  attendance  on 
her?"  Then  he  said,  *'Pooh!"  and  tenderly 
fingered  the  ruffles  of  his  wrist.  "  Tush, 
tush!"  said  he;  '*  no,  no;  though  if  it  came 
to  a  struggle  between  us,  I  might  in  the  inter- 
ests of  my  old  friend,  her  lord,  whom  I  have 
reasons  for  esteeming,  interpose  an  influence 


Tlie  Tale  of  Chloe.  99 

that  would  make  the  exercise  of  my  authority 
agreeable.  Hitherto  1  have  seen  no  actual 
need  of  it,  and  I  watch  keenly.  Her  eye  has 
been  on  Colonel  Poltermore  once  or  twice — his 
on  her.  The  woman  is  a  rose  in  June,  sir, 
and  1  forgive  the  whole  world  for  looking — 
and  for  longing  too.  But  I  have  observed 
nothing  serious.  ^^ 

**  He  is  of  our  party  to  the  beacon -head  to- 
morrow,^' said  Caseldy.  "  She  insisted  that 
she  would  have  him;  at  least  it  will  grant  me 
furlough  for  an  hour." 

"  Do  me  the  service  to  report  to  me,''  said 
Mr.  Beamish. 

In  this  fashion  he  engaged  Caseldy  to  sup- 
ply him  with  inventions,  and  prepared  himself 
to  swallow  them.  It  was  Poltermore  and 
Poltermore,  the  colonel  here,  the  colonel 
there,  until  the  chase  grew  so  hot  that  Mr. 
Beamish  could  no  longer  listen  to  young  Mr. 
Camwell's  fatiguing  drone  upon  his  one  theme 
of  the  double-dealing  of  Chloe's  betrothed. 
He  became  of  her  way  of  thinking  and  treated 


100  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

the  young  gentleman  almost  as  coldly  as  she. 
In  time  he  was  ready  to  guess  of  his  own 
acuteness  that  ^the  ''  strange  cavalier  ''  could 
have  been  no  other  than  Colonel  Poltermore. 
When  Caseldy  hinted  it,  Mr.  Beamish  said: 

"I  have  marked  him.'^  He  added,  in 
highly  self-satisfied  style:  *'  With  all  your  for- 
eign training,  my  friend,  you  will  learn  that 
we  English  are  not  so  far  behind  you  in  the 
art  of  unraveling  an  intrigue  in  the  dark.^' 

To  which  Caseldy  replied  that  the  con- 
tinental world  had  little  to  teach  Mr.  Beamish. 

Poor  Colonel  Poltermore,  as  he  came  to  be 
called,  was  clearly  a  victim  of  the  sudden 
affability  of  Duchess  Susan.  The  transfor- 
mation of  a  stiff  military  officer  into  a  nimble 
Puck,  a  runner  of  errands  and  a  sprightly  at- 
tendant, could  not  pass  without  notice.  The 
first  effect  of  her  discriminating  condescension 
on  this  unfortunate  gentleman  was  to  make 
him  the  champion  of  her  claims  to  breeding. 
She  had  it  by  nature;  she  was  Nature's  great 
lady;  he  would  protest  to  the  noble  dames  of 


Tlie  Tale  of  Cliloe,  101 

the  circle  he  moved  in;  and  they  admitted 
that  she  was  different  in  every  way  from  a 
hourgeoise  elevated  by  marriage  to  lofty  rank; 
she  was  not  vulgar.  But  they  remained 
doubtful  of  the  perfect  simplicity  of  a  young 
woman  who  worked  such  changes  in  men  as  to 
render  one  of  the  famous  conquerors  of  the 
day  her  agitated  humble  servant.  By  rapid 
degrees  the  colonel  had  fallen  to  that.  When 
not  by  her  side,  he  was  ever  marching  with 
sharp  strides,  hurrying  through  rooms  and 
down  alleys  and  groves  until  he  had  discovered 
and  attached  himself  to  her  skirts.  And, 
curiously,  the  object  of  his  jealousy  was  the 
devoted  Alonzo!  Mr.  Beamish  laughed  when 
he  heard  of  it.  The  lady's  excitement  and 
giddy  mien,  however,  accused  Poltermore  of  a 
stage  of  success  requiring  to  be  combated  im- 
mediately. There  was  mention  of  Duchess 
Susan's  mighty  wish  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  pop- 
ular fortune-teller  of  the  hut  on  the  heath, 
and  Mr.  Beamish  put  his  veto  on  the  expedi- 
tion.   She  had  obeyed  him  by  abstaining  from 


102  Tlie  Tale  of  Cliloe, 

play  of  late^  so  he  fully  expected  that  his  in- 
terdict would  be  obeyed;  and,  beside,  the  fort- 
une-teller was  a  rogue  of  a  sham  astrologer 
known  to  have  foretold  to  certain  tender  ladies 
things  they  were  only  too  desirous  to  imagine 
predestined  by  an  extraordinary  indication  of 
the  course  of  planets  through  the  zodiac,  thus 
causing  them  to  sin  by  the  example  of  celestial 
conjunctions  —  a  piece  of  wanton  impiety. 
The  Beau  took  high  ground  in  his  objections 
to  the  adventure.  Nevertheless,  Duchess 
Susan  did  go.  She  drove  to  the  heath  at  an 
early  hour  of  the  morning,  attended  by  Chloe, 
Colonel  Poltermore,  and  Caseldy.  They  sub- 
sequently breakfasted  at  an  inn  where  gypsy 
repasts  were  occasionally  served  to  the  fashion, 
and  they  were  back  at  the  Wells  as  soon  as  the 
world  was  abroad.  Their  surprise  then  was 
prodigious  when  Mr.  Beamish,  accosting  them 
in  full  assembly,  inquired  whether  they  were 
satisfied  with  the  report  of  their  fortunes, 
and  yet  more  when  he  positively  ^^roved 
himself  acquainted  with  the  fortunes  which 


The  Tale  of  Cliloe,  103 

had  been  recounted  to  each  of  them  in 
privacy. 

'*  You,  Colonel  Poltermore,  are  to  be  in 
luck^s  way  up  to  the  tenth  mile-stone — where 
your  chariot  will  be  overset  and  you  will  be 
lamed  for  life/^ 

*'  Not  quite  so  bad/'  said  the  colonel,  cheer- 
fully, he  having  been  informed  of  much  better. 

"  And  you.  Count  Caseldy,  are  to  have  it 
all  your  own  way  with  good  luck,  after  com- 
mitting a  deed  of  slaughter,  with  the  solitary 
penalty  of  undergoing  a  visit  every  night  from 
the  corpse. '^ 

"  Ghost,''  Caseldy  smilingly  corrected  him. 

*'  And  Chloe  would  not  have  her  fortune 
told,  because  she  knew  it."  Mr.  Beamish 
cast  a  paternal  glance  at  her.  *'  And  you, 
madame,"  he  bent  his  brows  on  the  duchess, 
*'  received  the  communication  that  '  All  for 
love '  will  sink  you  as  it  raised  you,  put  you 
down  as  it  took  you  up,  furnish  the  feast  to 
the  raven  gentleman  which  belongs  of  right  to 
the  golden  eagle — ha!" 


104  Tlie  Tale  of  Chloe, 

*'  Nothing  of  the  sort!  And  I  donH  believe 
in  any  of  their  stories/'  cried  the  duchess, 
with  a  burning  face. 

*'  You  deny  it,  madame?" 

'*  I  do.  There  was  never  a  word  of  a  raven 
or  an  eagle,  that  I'll  swear  now." 

"  You  deny  that  there  was  ever  a  word  of 
'  All  for  love?'     Speak,  madame.'^ 

"  Their  conjurer's  rigmarole,"  she  mur- 
mured, huffing.  "As  if  I  listened  to  their 
nonsense!" 

**  Does  the  Duchess  of  Dewlap  dare  to  give 
me  the  lie?"  said  Mr.  Beamish. 

*'  That's  not  my  title,  and  you  know  it," 
she  retorted. 

*'  What's  this?"  the  angry  Beau  sung  out. 
"  What  stufi  is  this  you  wear?"  He  towered 
and  laid  hand  on  a  border  of  lace  of  her  morn- 
ing-dress, tore  it  furiously  and  swung  a  length 
of  it  round  him;  and  while  the  duchess  panted 
and  trembled  at  an  outrage  that  won  for  her 
the  sympathy  of  every  lady  present  as  well  as 
the  championship  of  the  gentlemen,  he  tossed 


TJie  Tale  of  Chloe.  105 

the  lace  to  the  floor  and  trampled  on  it,  mak- 
ing his  big  voice  intelligible  over  the  uproar: 
"Hear  what  she  does!  ^Tis  a  felony!  She 
wears  the  stuff  with  Betty  Worcester's  yellow 
starch  on  it  for  mock  antique !  And  let  who 
else  wears  it  strip  it  off  before  the  town  shall 
say  we  are  disgraced  when  I  tell  you  that 
Betty  Worcester  was  hanged  at  Tyburn  yes- 
terday morning  for  murder !'' 

There  were  shrieks. 

Hardly  had  he  finished  speaking  before  the 
assembly  began  to  melt;  he  stood  in  the  cen- 
ter like  a  pole  unwinding  streamers,  amid  a 
confusion  of  hurrying  dresses  the  sound  and 
whirl  and  drift  whereof  was  as  that  of  the  au- 
tumnal strewn  leaves  on  a  wind  rising  in  No- 
vember. The  troops  of  ladies  were  off  to  be- 
reave themselves  of  their  fashionable  imitation 
old  lace  adornment  which  denounced  them  in 
some  sort  abettors  and  associates  of  the  lan- 
guinary  loathed  wretch,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Wor- 
cester, their  benefactress  of  the  previous  day, 
now  hanged  and  dangling  on  the  gallows-tree. 


106  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

Those  ladies  who  wore  not  imitation  lace  or 
any  lace  in  the  morning,  were  scarcely  dis- 
pleased with  the  Beau  for  his  exposure  of  them 
that  did.  The  gentlemen  were  confounded  by 
his  exhibition  of  audacious  power.  The  two 
gentlemen  nighest  upon  violently  resenting 
his  brutality  to  Duchess  Susan  led  her  from 
the  room  in  company  with  Chloe. 

•'  The  woman  shall  fear  me  to  good  pur- 
pose/' Mr.  Beamish  said  to  himself. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Mk.  Camwell  was  in  the  anteroom  as 
Chloe  passed  out  behind  the  two  incensed 
supporters  of  Duchess  Susan. 

**  I  shall  be  by  the  fir-trees  on  the  Mount  at 
eight  this  evening/'  she  said. 

"  I  will  be  there/'  he  replied. 

'*  Drive  Mr.  Beamish  into  the  country,  that 
these  gentlemen  may  have  time  to  cool.'* 

He  promised  her  it  should  be  done. 

Close  on  the  hour  of  her  appointment,  he 


The  Tale  of  CliJoe,  107 

stood  under  the  fir-trees,  admiring  the  sunset 
along  the  western  line  of  hills,  and  when 
Chloe  joined  him  he  spoke  of  the  beauty  of 
the  scene. 

''Though  nothing  seems  more  eloquently 
than  to  say  farewell/'  he  added,  with  a  sink- 
ing voice. 

"  We  could  say  it  now,  and  be  friends, '^ 
she  answered. 

"  Later  than  now,  you  think  it  unlikely 
that  you  could  forgive  me,  Chloe. '^ 

"  In  truth,  sir,  you  are  making  it  hard  for 
me.'' 

''  I  have  stayed  here  to  keep  watch;  for  no 
pleasure  of  my  own,"  said  he. 

'*  Mr.  Beamish  is  an  excellent  protector  of 
the  duchess." 

"  Excellent;  and  he  is  cleverly  taught  to 
suppose  she  fears  him  greatly:  and  when  she 
ofiends  him,  he  makes  a  display  of  his  Jupi- 
ter's awf ulness,  with  the  effect  on  a  woman  of 
natural  spirit  which  you  have  seen,  and  others 
had    foreseen,   that    she  is  exasperated  and 


108  Tlie  Tale  of  Cliloe. 

grows  reckless.  Tie  another  knot  in  your 
string,  Chloe/^ 

She  looked  away,  saying:  "Were  you  not 
the  cause?  You  were  in  collusion  with  that 
charlatan  of  the  heath,  who  told  th^m  their 
fortunes  this  morning.  I  see  far,  both  in  the 
dark  and  in  the  light/' 

**  But  not  through  a  curtain.  I  was  pres- 
ent.'' 

*'  Hateful,  hateful  business  of  the  spy! 
You  have  worked  a  great  mischief,  Mr.  Cam- 
well.  And  how  can  you  reconcile  it  to  your 
conscience  that  you  should  play  so  base  a 
part?" 

**  I  have  but  performed  my  duty,  dear  ma- 
dame." 

"  You  pretend  that  it  is  your  devotion  to 
me !  1  might  be  flattered  if  I  saw  not  so  ab- 
ject a  figure  in  my  service.  Now  have  I  but 
four  days  of  my  month  of  happiness  remain- 
ing, and  my  request  to  you  is,  leave  me  to  en- 
joy them.  I  beseech  you  to  go.  Very  hum- 
bly, most  earnestly,  I  bog  your  departure. 


The  Tide  of  Chloe.  109 

Grant  it  to  me,  and  do  not  stay  to  poison  my 
last  days  here.  Leave  us  to-morrow.  I  will 
admit  your  good  intentions.  I  give  you  my 
hand  in  gratitude.     Adieu,  Mr.  Camw-ell.'^ 

He  took  her  hand.  '*  Adieu.  I  foresee  an 
early  separation,  and  this  dear  hand  is  mine 
while  1  have  it  in  mine.  Adieu.  It  is  a  word 
to  be  repeated  at  a  parting  like  ours.  We  do 
not  blow  out  our  light  with  one  breath;  we 
let  it  fade  gradually,  like  yonder  sunset." 

*'  Speak  so,^^  said  she. 

'*  Ah,  Chloe,  to  give  one^s  life!  And  it  is 
your  happiness  I  have  sought  more  than  your 
favor. " 

"  I  believe  it;  but  I  have  not  liked  the 
means.     You  leave  us  to-morrow?'^ 

*'  It  seems  to  me  that  to-morrow  is  the 
term.'' 

Her  face  clouded.  "  That  tells  me  a  very 
uncertain  promise.'' 

"  You  looked  forward  to  a  month  of  haiDpi- 
ness — meaning  a  month  of  delusion.  The  de- 
lusion expires  to-night.     You  will  awaken  to 


110  The  Tale  of  Chloe, 

see  your  end  of  it  in  the  morning.  You  have 
never  looked  beyond  the  month  since  the  day 
of  his  arri-val/^ 

'*  Let  him  not  be  named,  I  supplicate  you.'' 
\  "  Then  you  consent  that  another  shall  be 
sacrificed  for  you  to  enjoy  your  state  of  decep- 
tion an  hour  longer?'* 

*'  I  am  not  deceived,  sir.  I  wish  for  peace, 
and  crave  it,  and  that  is  all  I  would  have." 

"  And  you  make  her  your  peace-ofi^eriug, 
whom  you  have  engaged  to  serve?  Too  surely 
your  eyes  have  been  open  as  well  as  mine. 
Knot  by  knot — I  have  watched  you — where  is 
it? — you  have  marked  the  points  in  that  silken 
string  where  the  confirmation  of  a  just  sus- 
picion was  too  strong  for  you.'' 

**  1  did  it,  and  still  I  continued  merry." 
She  subsided  from  her  scornf ulness  on  an  in-  . 
voluntary  ''  Ah!"  that  was  a  shudder. 

*'  You  acted  *  Light  Heart,'  madame,  and 
too  well  to  hoodwink  me.  Meanwhile  you 
allowed  that  mischief  to  proceed,  rather  than 
have  your  crazy  lullaby  disturbed." 


The  Tale  of  Chloc.  Ill 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Cam  well,  you  presume/ 

*'  The  time,  and  my  knowledge  of  what  it  is 
fraught  with,  demand  it  and  excuse  it.  You 
and  I,,  my  dear  and  only  love  on  earth,  stand 
outside  of  ordinary  rules.  We  are  between 
life  and  death. '^ 

*'  We  are  so  always.'^ 

"  Listen  further  to  the  preacher:  We  have 
them  close  on  us,  with  the  question,  which  it 
shall  be  to-morrow.  You  are  for  sleeping  on, 
but  I  say  no;  nor  shall  that  iniquity  of  double 
treachery  be  committed  because  of  your  desire 
to  be  rocked  in  a  cradle.  Hear  me  out.  The 
drug  you  have  swallowed  to  cheat  yourself 
will  not  bear  the  shock  awaiting  you  to-mor- 
row with  the  first  light.  Hear  these  birds! 
When  next  they  sing,  you  will  be  broad  awake, 
and — of  me,  and  the  worship  and  service  I 
would  have  dedicated  to  you,  I  do  not  .  .  . 
it  is  a  spectral  sunset  of  a  day  that  was  never 
to  be!  awake,  and  looking  on  what?  Back 
from  a  monstrous  villainy  to  the  forlorn  wretch 
who  winked  at  it  with  knots  in  a  string.    Count 


113  The  Tale  of  Cliloe. 

them  then,  and  where  will  be  your  answer  to 
Heaven?  I  begged  it  of  you  to  save  you  from 
those  blows  of  remorse;  yes,  terrible !'' 

*'  Oh,  no!" 

*' Terrible,  1  say!" 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Cam  well.     It  is 
my  soother.     1  tell  my  beads  on  if 

"  See  how  a  persistent  residence  in  this 
place  has  made  a  pagan  of  the  purest  soul 
among  us!  Had  you  .  .  .  but  that  day  was 
not  to  lighten  me!  More  adorable  in  your 
errors  that  you  are  than  others  by  their  virt-  , 
ues,  you  have  sinned  through  excess  of  the 
qualities  men  prize.  Oh,  you  have  a  bound- 
less generosity,  unhapf)ily  in  wound  with  a 
pride  as  great.  There  is  your  fault,  that  is 
the  cause  of  your  misery.  Too  generous,  too 
proud!  You  have  trusted,  and  you  will  not 
cease  to  trust;  you  have  vowed  yourself  to 
love,  never  to  remonstrate,  never  to  seem  to 
doubt;  it  is  too  much  your  religion,  rare 
verily.  But  bethink  you  of  that  inexperienced 
and  most  silly  good  creature  who  is  on  the 


The  Tale  of  Cliloe,  113 

rapids  to  her  destruction.  Is  she  not — you 
will  cry  it  aloud  to-morrow — your  victim? 
You  hear  it  within  you  now/' 

*'  Friend,  my  dear,  true  friend/'  Chloe  said, 
in  her  deeper  voice  of  melody,  '*  set  your  mind 
at  ease  about  to-morrow  and  her.  Her  safety 
is  assured.  I  stake  my  life  on  it.  She  shall 
not  be  a  victim.  At  the  worst  she  will  but 
have  learned  a  lesson.  So,  then,  adieu!  The 
west  hangs  like  a  garland  of  unwatered 
flowers,  neglected  by  the  mistress  they 
adorned.  Remember  the  scene,  and  that  here 
we  parted,  and  that  Chloe  wished  you  the 
happiness  it  was  out  of  her  power  to  bestow, 
because  she  was  of  another  world,  with  her 
history  written  out  to  the  last  red  streak  be- 
fore ever  you  knew  her.  Adieu;  this  time 
adieu  for  good!" 

Mr.  Oamwell  stood  in  her  path. 

*'  Blind  eyes,  if  you  like,"  he  said,  "  but 
you  shall  not  hear  blind  language.  1  forfeit 
the  poof  consideration  for  me  that  I  have 
treasured;  hate  me;  better  hated  by  you  than 


114  The  Tale  of  Chloe, 

sliun  my  duty!  Your  duchess  is  away  at  the  first 
dawn  this  next  mornins:;  it  has  come  to  that. 
I  speak  with  full  knowledge.     Question  her. '' 

Chloe  threw  a  faltering  scorn  of  him  into 
her  voice,  as  much  as  her  heart's  sharp  throbs 
would  allow. 

"  I  question  you,  sir,  how  you  came  to  this 
full  knowledge  you  boast  of?'' 

*'  I  have  it;  let  that  suffice.  Nay,  I  will  be 
particular;  his  coach  is  ordered  for  the  time  I 
name  to  you;  her  maid  is  already  at  a  station 
on  the  road  of  the  flight. " 

'*  You  have  their  servants  in  your  pay?" 

"For  the  mioe  —  the  countermine.  We 
must  grub  dirt  to  match  deceivers.  You, 
madame,  have  chosen  to  be  delicate  to  excess, 
and  have  thrown  it  upon  me  to  be  gross,  and 
if  you  please,  abominable,  in  my  means  of  de- 
fending you.  It  is  not  too  late  for  you  to  save 
the  lady,  nor  too  late  to  bring  him  to  a 
sense  of  honor. " 

"  I  can  not  think  Colonel  Poltermore  so 
dishonorable. " 


The  Tale  of  OMqb,  115 

**  Poor  Colonel  Poltermore!  the  office  he  is 
made  to  fill  is  an  old  one.  Are  you  not 
ashamed,  Chloe?^' 

**  I  have  listened  too  long/'  she  replied. 

**  Then,  if  it  is  your  pleasure,  depart. '^ 

He  made  way  for  her.  She  passed  him. 
Taking  two  hurried  steps  in  the  gloom  of  the 
twilight,  she  stopped,  held  at  her  heart,  and 
painfully  turning  to  him,  threw  her  arms  out, 
and  let  herself  be  seized  and  kissed. 

On  his  asking  pardon  of  her,  which  his  long 
habit  of  respect  forced  him  to  do  in  the  thick 
of  rapture  and  repetitions,  she  said: 

"  You  rob  no  one." 

**  Oh,''  he  cried,  "  there  is  a  reward,  then, 
for  faithful  love.  But  am  I  the  man  1  was  a 
minute  back?  1  have  you;  1  embrace  you; 
and  I  doubt  that  I  am  1.  Or  is  it  Chloe's 
ghost?" 

*'  She  has  died  and  visits  you." 

*'  And  will  again?" 

Chloe  could  not  speak  for  languor. 

The  intensity  of  the  happiness  she  gave  by 


116  The  Tale  of  Chloe, 

resting  mutely  where  she  was  charmed  her 
senses.  But  so  long  had  the  frost  been  on 
them  that  their  awakening  to  warmth  was 
haunted  by  speculations  on  the  sweet  taste  of 
this  reward  of  faithfulness  to  him,  and  the 
strange  taste  of  her  own  unfaithfulness  to  her. 
And  reflecting  on  the  cold  act  of  speculation 
while  strong  arm  and  glowing  mouth  were 
pressing  her,  she  thought  her  senses  might 
really  be  dead  and  she  a  ghost  visiting  the 
good  youth  for  his  comfort.  So  feel  ghosts, 
she  thought,  and  what  we  call  happiness  in 
love  is  a  match  between  ecstasy  and  compli- 
ance. Another  thought  flew  through  her  like 
a  mortal  shot: 

"  Not  so  with  those  two!  with  them  it  will 
be  ecstasy  meeting  ecstasy;  tliey  will  take  and 
give  happiness  in  equal  portions.^' 

A  pang  of  jealousy  traversed  her  frame. 
She  made  the  shrewdness  of  it  help  to  nerve 
her  fervor  in  a  last  strain  of  him  to  her  bosom, 
and  gently  releasing  herself,  she  said: 

*'  No  one  is  robbed.     And  now,  dear  friend, 


The  Talc  of  Chloe.  117 

promise  me  that  you  will  not  disturb  Mr. 
Beamish/^ 

*'  Ohloe/^  said  he,  **  have  you  bribed  me?^' 
'*  1  do  not  wish  him  to  be  troubled/' 
"  The  duchess,  1  have  told  you — " 
*'  I  know.  But  you  have  Chloe's  word  that 
she  will  watch  over  the  duchess  and  die  to 
save  her.  It  is  an  oath.  You  have  heard  of 
some  arrangements.  I  say  they  shall  lead  to 
nothing;  it  shall  not  take  place.  Indeed,  my 
friend,  I  am  awake;  I  see  as  much  as  you  see. 
And  those  .  .  .  after  being  where  1  have 
been,  can  you  suppose  I  have  a  regret?  But 
she  is  my  dear  and  joeculiar  charge,  and  if  she 
runs  a  risk,  trust  to  me  that  there  shall  be  no 
catastrophe;  I  swear  it;  so  now  adieu.  We 
sup  in  company  to-night.  They  will  be  ex- 
pecting some  of  Chloe's  verses,  and  she  must 
sing  to  herself  for  a  few  minutes  to  stir  the 
bed  her  songs  take  wing  from;  therefore  we 
will  part,  and  for  her  sake  avoid  her;  do  not 
be  piesent  at  our  table,  or  in  the  room,  or- 
any where  there.     Yes,  you  rob  no  one,''  she 


118  TU  Tale  of  Chloe, 

said,  in  a  voice  that  curled  through  him  de- 
liciously  by  wavering;  "but  I  think  1  may 
blush  at  recollections,  and  1  would  rather 
have  you  absent.  Adieu.  1  will  not  ask  for 
obedience  from  you  beyond  to-night.  Your 
word?^' 

He  gave  it  in  a  stupor  of  felicity,  and  she 
fled. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Chloe  drew  the  silken  string  from  her 
bosom,  as  she  descended  the  dim  pathway 
through  the  furze,  and  set  her  fingers  travel- 
ing along  it  for  the  number  of  the  knots. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  be  living,'^  she  said. 

Seven  was  the  number;  seven  years  she  had 
awaited  her  lover's  return;  she  counted  her 
age  and  completed  it  in  sevens.  Fatalism  had 
sustained  her  during  her  lover's  absence;  it 
had  fast  hold  of  her  now.  Thereby  had  she 
been  enabled  to  say,  "  He  will  come;"  and 
saying,  *'  He  has  come,''  her  touch  rested  on 


The  Tale  of  Chloe.  119 

the  first  knot  in  the  string.  She  had  no 
power  to  displace  her  fingers,  and  the  cause  of 
the  tying  of  the  knot  stood  across  her  brain 
marked  in  dull-red  characters,  legible  neither 
to  her  eye  nor  to  her  understanding,  but  a  re- 
viving of  the  hour  that  brought  it  on  her  spirit 
with  human  distinctness,  except  of  the  light 
of  day;  she  had  a  sense  of  having  forfeited 
light,  and  of  seeing  perhaps  more  clearly. 
Everything  assured  her  that  she  saw  more 
clearly  than  others;  she  saw  too  when  it  was 
good  to  cease  to  live. 

Hers  was  the  unhappy  lot  of  one  gifted  with 
poetic  imagination  to  throb  with  the  women 
supplanting  her  and  share  the  fascination  of 
the  man  who  deceived.  At  their  first  meet- 
ing, in  her  presence,  she  had  seen  that  they 
were  not  strangers;  she  pitied  them  for 
speaking  falsely,  and  when  she  vowed  to 
thwart  this  course  of  evil  it  was  to  save  a 
younger  creature  of  her  sex,  not  in  rivalry. 
She  treated  them  both  with  a  proud  generosity 
surpassing  gentleness.  .  All  that  there  was  of 


120  The  Tale  of  Cliloe. 

selfishness  in  her  bosom  resolved  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  her  one  month  of  strongly  willed  de- 
lusion. 

The  kiss  she  had  sunk  to  robbed  no  one, 
not  even  her  body^s  purity,  for  when  this  knot 
was  tied  she  consigned  herself  to  her  end,  and 
had  become  a  bag  of  dust.  The  other  knots 
in  the  string  pointed  to  verifications;  this  first 
one  was  a  suspicion,  and  it  was  the  more  pre- 
cious, she  felt  it  to  be  more  a  certainty;  it  had 
come  from  the  dark  world  beyond  us,  where 
all  is  known.  Her  belief  that  it  had  come 
thence  was  nourished  by  testimony  of  the 
space  of  blackness  wherein  she  had  lived 
since,  exhausting  her  last  vitality  in  a  simula- 
tion of  infantile  happiness,  which  was  nothing 
other  than  the  carrying  on  of  her  emotion  of 
the  moment  of  sharp  sour-sweet — such  as,  it 
may  be,  the  doomed  below  attain  for  their 
knowledge  of  joy,  when,  at  the  first  meet- 
ing with  her  lover,  the  perce23tion  of  his 
treacliery  to  the  soul  confiding  in  him  told 
her  she  had  lived,  and  opened  out  the  cher- 


The  Tale  of  Chloe.  121 

ished  kingdom  of  insensibility  to  her  for  her 
heritage. 

».  She  made  her  tragic  humility  speak  thank- 
fully to  the  wound  that  slew  her. 

*'Had  it  not  been  so,  I  should  not  have 
seen  him/'  she  said. 

Her  lover  would  not  hare  come  to  her  but 
for  his  pursuit  of  another  woman. 

She  pardoned  him  for  being  attracted  by 
that  beautiful  transplant  of  the  fields;  par- 
doned her  likewise. 

'*  He,  when  I  saw  him  first,  was  as  beauti- 
ful to  me.  For  him  1  might  have  done  as 
much." 

Far  away  in  a  lighted  hall  of  the  west,  her 
family  raised  hands  of  reproach.  They  were 
ininute  objects,  keenly  discerned  as  diminished 
figures  cut  in  steel.  Feeling  could  not  be 
Very  warm  for  them,  they  were  so  small,  and 
a  sea  that  had  drowned  her  ran  between;  and 
looking  that  way  she  had  scarce  any  warmth 
of  feeling  save  for  a  white  rliaiadr  leaping  out 
of    broken  cloud  through    branched    rocks. 


122  The  Tale  of  adoe. 

where  she  had  climbed  and  dreamed  when  a 
child.  The  dream  was  then  of  the  colored 
days  to  come;  now  she  was  more  infant  in 
her  mind,  and  she  watched  the  scattered 
water  broaden,  and  tasted  the  spray,  sat 
there  drinking  the  scene,  untroubled  by  hopes 
as  a  lamb,  different  only  from  an  infant  in 
knowing  that  she  had  thrown  off  life  to  travel 
back  to  her  home  and  be  refreshed.  She 
heard  her  people  talk;  they  were  unending 
babblers  in  the  water-fall.  Truth  was  with 
them,  and  wisdom.  How,  then,  could  she 
pretend  to  any  right  to  live?  Already  she 
had  no  name;  she  was  less  living  than  a  tomb- 
stone. For  who  was  Chloe?  Her  family 
might  pass  the  grave  of  Chloe  without  weep- 
ing, without  moralizing.  They  had  foreseen 
her  ruin,  they  had  foretold  it,  they  noised  it 
in  the  waters,  and  on  they  sped  to  the  plains, 
telling  the  world  of  their  prophecy,  and  mak- 
ing what  was  untold  as  yet  a  lighter  thing  to 
do. 

The  ]amps  in  an  irregularly  dotted  line  un- 


The  Tale  of  Chloe.  123 

clerneath  the  hill  beckoned  her  to  her  task  of 
apj)earing  as  the  gayest  of  them  that  draw 
their  breath  for  the  day  and  have  pulses  for 
the  morrow. 


CHAPTER  X. 

At  midnight  the  great  supper-party  to  cele- 
brate the  reconciliation  of  Mr.  Beamish  and 
Duchess  Susan  broke  up,  and  beneath  a  soft 
fair  sky  the  ladies,  with  their  silvery  chatter 
of  gratitude  for  amusement,  caught  Chloe  in 
their  arms  to  kiss  her,  rendering  it  natural  for 
their  cavaliers  to  exclaim  that  Chloe  was 
blessed  above  mortals.  The  duchess  pre- 
ferred to  walk.  Her  spirits  were  excited,  and 
her  language  smell ed  of  her  origin,  but  the 
superb  fleshly  beauty  of  the  woman  was 
aglow,  and  crying:  *'  1  declare  1  should  burst 
in  one  of  those  boxes — just  as  if  you'd  stalled 
me!''  she  fanned  wind  on  her  face,  and 
sumptuously  spread  her  spherical  skirts,  at- 
tended by  the  vanquished  and  captive  Colonel 


124  The  Tale  of  Cliloe, 

Poltermore,  a  gentleman  manifestly  bent  on 
insinuating  sly  slips  of  speech  to  serve  for 
here  a  pinch  of  powder,  there  a  match. 
*'  Am  I?'^  she  was  heard  to  say.  She  blew 
prodigious  deep-chested  sighs  of  a  coquette 
that  has  taken  to  roaring. 

Presently  her  voice  tossed  out: 

*'Asif  IwouldT' 

These  vivid  illuminations  of  the  colonel's 
proceedings  were  a  pasture  to  the  rearward 
groups,  composed  bf  two  very  grand  ladies, 
Caseldy,  Mr.  Beamish,  a  lord,  and  Ohloe. 

*'  You  man!  Oh!''  sprung  from  the  duch- 
ess. "  What  do  1  hear?  I  won't  listen;  I 
can't;  I  mustn't;  1  oughtn't. '' 

So  she  said,  but  her  head  careened,  she  gave 
him  her  coy,  reluctant  ear,  with  total  aban- 
donment to  the  seductions  of  his  whispers,  and 
the  lord  let  fly  a  peal  of  laughter.  It  had 
been  a  supper  of  copious  wine,  and  the  songs 
which  rise  from  wine.  Nature  was  excused 
by  our  midnight  naturalists. 

The  two  great  dames,  admonished  by  the 


Tlie  Tale  of  Chloe,  125 

violence  of  the  nobleman's  laughter,  laid  claim 
on  Mr.  Beamish  to  accompany  them  at  their 
parting  with  Chloe  and  Duchess  Susan. 

In  the  momentary  shuffling  of  couples  inci- 
dent to  adieus  among  a  company,  the  duchess 
murmured  to  Caseldy. 

/'Have  I  done  it  well?" 

He  praised  her  for  perfection  in  her  acting. 

*'  1  am  at  your  door  at  three,  remember. '^ 

*'  My  heart's  in  my  mouth,"  said  she. 

Colonel  Poltermore  still  had  the  privilege  of 
conducting  her  the  few  further  steps  to  her 
lodgings. 

Caseldy  walked  beside  Chloe,  and  silently, 
until  he  said: 

*'  If  I  have  not  yet  mentioned  the  sub- 
ject-'' 

"  If  I  it  is  an  allusion  to  money,  let  me  not 
hear  it  to-night,"  she  replied. 

"  I  can  only  say  that  my  lawyers  have  in- 
structions. But  my  lawyers  can  not  pay  you 
in  gratitude.  Do  not  think  me  in  your 
hardest  review  of  my  misconduct  ungrateful. 


126  The  Tale  of  Cliloe. 

I  have  ever  esteemed  you  above  all  women;  1 
do,  and  1  shall;  you  are  too  much  above  me. 
I  am  afraid  I  am  a  composition  of  bad  stuff; 
1  did  not  win  a  very  particularly  good  name 
on  the  Continent;  I  begin  to  know  myself, 
and  in  comparison  with  you,  dear  Cather- 
ine—^' 

"  You  speak  to  Chloe,"  she  saM.  "  Cather- 
ine is  a  buried  person.  She  died  without 
pain.     8he  is  by  this  time  dust." 

The  man's  breast  heaved. 

"  Women  have  not  an  idea  of  our  tempta- 
tions. " 

''  You  are  excused  by  me  for  all  your  errors, 
Caseldy.     Always  remember  that. " 

He  sighed  profoundly. 

"  Ah,  you  have  a  Christian's  heart." 

She  answered: 

"  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  is  a 
pagan's." 

**  As  for  me,"  he  rejoined,  "  I  am  a  fatal- 
ist. Through  life  I  have  seen  my  destiny. 
What  is  to  be  will  be;  wo  can  do  nothing." 


The  Tale  of  Cldoe,  127 

"  I  have  heard  of  one  who  expired  of  a  sur- 
feit that  he  anticipated,  nay,  proclaimed, 
when  indulging  in  the  last  desired  morsel/' 
said  Chloe. 

"  He  was  driven  to  it." 

**  From  within/' 
^  Caseldy  acquiesced;  his  wits  were  clouded, 
and  an  illustration  even  coarser  and  more 
grotesque  would  have  won  a  serious  nod  and  a 
sigh  from  him. 

**  Yes,  we  are  moved  by  other  hands." 

"It  is  pleasant  to  think  so;  and  think  it  of 
me  to-morrow.     Will  you?"  said  Chloe. 

He  promises  it  heartily,  to  induce  her  to 
think  the  same  of  him. 

Their  separation  was  in  no  way  remarkable. 
The  pretty  formalities  were  executed  at  the 
door,  and  the  pair  of  gentlemen  departed. 

*'  It's  quite  dark  still,"  Duchess  Susan  said, 
looking  up  at  the  sky,  and  she  ran  upstairs, 
and  sunk,  complaining  of  the  weakness  of  her 
legs,  in  a  chair  of  the  ante-chamber  of  her  bed- 
room, where  Chloe  slept.    Then  she  asked  the 


128  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

time  of  the  night.  She  could  not  supjoress 
her  hushed  ''Oh!"  of  heavy  throbbing  from 
minute  to  minute.  Suddenly  she  started  off 
at  a  quick  stride  to  her  own  room,  saying  that 
it  must  be  sleepiness  which  affected  her  so. 

Her  bedroom  had  a  door  to  the  sitting- 
room,  and  thence,  as  also  from  Chloe's  room, 
the  landing  on  the  stairs  was  reached,  for  the 
room  ran  parallel  with  both  bed-chambers. 
She  walked  in  it  and  threw  the  window  ojDcn, 
but  closed  it  immediately;  opened  and  shut 
the  door,  and  returned  and  called  for  Chloe. 
She  wanted  to  be  read  to.  Chloe  named  cer- 
tain composing  books.  The  duchess  chose  a 
book  of  sermons. 

**  But  we're  all  such  dreadful  sinners,  it's 
better  not  to  bother  ourselves  late  at  night. '^ 

She  dismissed  that  suggestion.  Chloe  pro- 
posed books  of  poetry. 

*'  Only  I  don't  understand  them,  except 
about  larks,  and  buttercups,  and  hay-fields, 
and  that's  no  comfort  to  a  woman  burning," 
was  the  answer. 


The  Tale  of  Chloe,  129 

*'  Are  you  feverish,  madame?''  said  Chloe. 
And  the  duchess  was  sharp  on  her: 

*'  Yes,  madame,  1  am/' 

She  reproved  herself  in  a  change  of  tone: 

*'  No,  Chloe;  not  feverish,  only  this  air  of 
yours  here  is  such  an  exciting  air,  as  the  doc- 
tor says;  and  they  made  me  drink  wine,  and 
I  played  before  supper.  Oh!  my  money;  I 
used  to  say  I  could  get  more,  but  now!"  she 
sighed.  **But  there's  better  in  the  world 
than  mo\iey.  You  know  that,  don't  you,  you 
dear?  Tell  me.  And  I  want  you  to  be  hap- 
py; that  you'll  find.  I  do  wish  we  could  all 
be!" 

She  wept,  and  spoke  of  requiring  a  little 
music  to  compose  her. 

Chloe  stretched  a  hand  for  her  guitar. 
Duchess  Susan  listened  to  some  notes,  and 
cried  that  it  went  to  her  heart  and  hurt  her. 

"  Everything  we  like  a  lot  has  a  fence  and 
a  board  against  trespassers,  because  of  such 
a  lot  of  people  in  the  world,"  she  moaned. 
*'  Don't  play;  put  down  that  thing,  please, 

5 


130  The  Tale  of  Chloe. 

dear.  You're  the  cleverest  creature  anybody 
has  ever  met;  they  all  say  so.  I  wish  I — 
Lovely  women  catch  men,  and  clever  women 
keep  them;  I've  heard  that  said  in  this 
wretched  place,  and  it's  a  nice  prospect  for 
me,  next  door  to  a  fool!    1  know  I  am.'^ 

**  The  duke  adores  you,  madame." 

'*  Poor  duke!  Do  let  him  be — sleeping  so 
woe-begone  with  his  mouth  so,  and  that  chin 
of  a  baby,  like  as  if  he  dreamed  of  a  penny 
whistle.  He  shouldn't  have  let  me  come  here. 
Talk  of  Mr.  Beamish.  How  he  will  miss  you, 
Chloe!" 

**  He  will,"  said  Chloe,  sadly. 

**  If  you  go,  dear." 

**  I  am  going." 

''  Why  should  you  leave  him,  Chloe?" 

"Imust." 

*' And  there,  the  thought  of  it  makes  yor 
miserable!" 

"It  does." 

**  You  needn't,  I'm  sure." 

Chloe  looked  at  her. 


The  Tale  of  Chloe.  131 

The  duchess  turned  her  head. 

**  Why  can't  you  be  gay,  as  you  were  at  the 
supper-table,  Chloe?  You're  out  to  him  like 
a  flower  when  the  sun  jumps  over  the  hill; 
you're  up  like  a  lark  in  the  dews;  as  I  used 
to  be  when  I  thought  of  nothing.  Oh,  the 
early  morning;  and  I'm  sleepy.  What  a 
beast  1  feel,  with  my  grandeur,  and  the  time 
in  an  hour  or  two  for  the  birds  to  slug,  and 
me  ready  to  drop.     1  must  go  and  undress. " 

She  rushed  on  Chloe,  kissed  her  hastily,  de- 
claring that  she  was  quite  dead  of  fatigue,  and 
dismissed  her. 

*'  I  don't  want  help,  1  can  undress  myself. 
As  if  Susan  Barley  couldn't  do  that  for  her- 
self I  and  you  may  shut  your  door — I  sha'n't 
have  any  frights  to-night,  I'm  so  tired  out." 

"  Another  kiss,"  Chloe  said,  tenderly. 

*' Yes,  take  it,"  the  duchess  leaned  her 
cheek;  *'  but  I'm  so  tired  1  don't  know  what 
I  am  doing."  • 

**  It  will  not  be  on  your  conscience,"  Chloe 
answered,  kissing  her  warmly. 


132  TJie  Tale  of  Chloe. 

With  those  words  she  withdrew,  and  the 
duchess  closed  the  door.  She  ran  a  bolt  in  it 
immediately. 

"I'm  too  tired  to  know  anything  that  hap- 
pens/' she  said  to  herself,  and  stood  with  shut 
eyes  to  hug  certain  thoughts  which  set  her 
bosom  heaving. 

There  was  the  bed,  there  was  the  clock. 
She  had  the  option  of  lying  down  and  floating 
quietly  into  the  day,  all  peril  past.  It  seemed 
sweet  for  a  minute.  But  it  soon  seemed  an 
old,  a  worn,  an  end-of -autumn  life,  chill, 
without  aim,  like  a  something  that  was  hun- 
gry and  toothless.  The  bed  proposing  inno- 
cent sleep  repelled  her  and  drove  her  to  the 
clock.  The  clock  was  awful;  the  hand  at  the 
hour,  the  finger  following  the  minute,  com- 
manded her  to  stir  actively,  and  drove  her  to 
gentle  meditations  on  the  bed.  She  lay  down 
dressed,  after  setting  her  light  beside  the 
clock,  that  she  might  see  it  at  will,  and  con- 
sidering it  necessary  for  the  bed  to  appear  to 
have  been  lain  on.     Considering  also  that  she 


The  Tale  of  Chloe.  133 

on_^lit  to  be  heard  moving  about  in  the  proc- 
ess of  undressing,  she  rose  from  the  bed  to 
make  sure  of  her  reading  of  the  guilty  clock. 
An  hour  and  twenty  minutes!  she  had  no  more 
time  than  that;  and  it  was  not  enough  for  her 
various  preparations,  though  it  was  true  that 
her  maid  had  packed  and  taken  a  box  of  the 
things  chiefly  needful;  but  the  duchess  had  to 
change  her  shoes  and  her  dress,  and  run  at  bo- 
peep  with  the  changes  of  her  mind,  a  sedative 
preface  to  any  fatal  step  among  women  of  her 
complexion,  for  so  they  invite  indecision  to  ex- 
haust their  scruples,  and  they  let  the  blood 
have  its  way.  Having  so  short  a  space  of 
time,  she  thought  the  matter  decided,  and 
with  some  relief  she  flung  despairing  on  the 
bed,  and  lay  down  for  good  with  her  duke. 
In  a  little  while  her  head  was  at  work  review- 
ing him  sternly,  estimating  him  not  less  ac- 
curately than  the  male  moralist  charitable  to 
her  sex  would  do.  She  quitted  the  bed  with 
a  spring  to  escape  her  imagined  lord;  and  as 
if  she  had  left  him  to  be  there,  she  lay  down 


.134  Tlie  Tale  of  Chloe, 

no  more.  A  quiet  life  like  that  was  flatter 
to  her  idea  than  handsomely  bound  big  books 
without  print  on  the  pages,  and  without  a 
picture.  Her  contemplation  of  it,  contrasted 
with  the  life  waved  to  her  view  by  the  time- 
piece, set  her  whole  system  raging;  she 
burned  to  fly.  Providently,  nevertheless,  she 
thumped  a  pillow,  and  threw  the  bed-clothes 
into  proper  disorder,  to  inform  the  world  that 
her  limbs  had  warmed  them,  and  that  all  had 
been  impulse  with  her.  She  then  proceeded 
to  disrobe,  murmuring  to  herself  that  she 
could  stop  now,  at  each  stage  of  the  advance 
of  a  fresh  dressing  of  her  person,  and  moraliz- 
ing on  her  singular  fate,  in  the  mouth  of  an 
observer. 

'*  She  was  shot  up  suddenly  over  every- 
body's head,  and   suddenly  down  she  went,'' 
^ Susan  whispered  to  herself.     **  But  it  was  for 
love!" 

Possessed  by  the  rosiness  of  love,  she  fin- 
ished her  business,  with  an  attention  to  every- 
thing needed  that  was  equal  to  perfect  serenity 


The  Tale  of  Chloe,  135 

of  miud.  After  which  there  was  nothing  to 
do,  save  to  sit  humped  in  a  chair,  cover  her 
face  and  count  the  clock- tickings,  that  said: 
"Yes— no;  do— don't;  fly— stay;  fly— fly!''. 
It  seemed  to  her  she  heard  a  moving.  Well 
she  might  with  that  dreadful  heart  of  hers! 

Chloe  was  asleep,  at  peace  by  this  time,  she 
thought;  and  how  she  envied  Ohloe!  She 
might  be  as  happy,  if  she  pleased.  Why  not? 
But  what  kind  of  happiness  was  it?  She 
likened  it  to  that  of  the  corpse  underground, 
and  shrunk  distastefully. 

Susan  stood  at  her  glass  to  have  a  look  at 
the  creature  about  whom  there  was  all  this 
disturbance,  and  she  threw  up  her  arms  high 
for  a  languid,  not  unlovely  yawn,  that  closed 
in  blissful  shuddering  with  the  sensation  of  her 
lover's  arms  having  wormed  round  her  waist 
and  taken  her  while  she  was  defenseless.  For 
surely  they  would.  She  took  a  jeweled  riug, 
his  gift,  from  her  purse,  and  kissed  it,  and 
drew  it  on  and  oS  her  finger,  leaving  it  on. 
Now  she  might  wear  it  without  fear  of  in- 


136  The  Tale  of  Cliloe, 

quiries  and  virtuous  eyebrows.  Oh,  heavenly 
now — if  only  it  were  an  hour  hence,  and  go- 
ing behind  galloping  horses! 

The  clock  was  at  the  terrible  moment.  She 
hesitated  internally  and  hastened;  once  her 
feet  stuck  fast,  and  firmly  she  said,  "  No;" 
but  the  clock  was  her  lord.  The  clock  was 
her  lover  and  her  lord;  and  obeying  it,  she 
managed  to  get  into  the  sitting-room,  on  the 
pretext  that  she  merely  wished  to  see  through 
the  front  window  whether  daylight  was  com- 
ing. 

How  well  she  knew  that  half-light  of  the 
ebb  of  the  wave  of  darkness. 

Strange  enough  it  was  to  see  it  showing 
houses  regaining  their  solidity  of  the  foregone 
day,  instead  of  still  fields,  black  hedges, 
familiar  shapes  of  trees.  The  houses  had  no 
wakefulness,  they  were  but  seen  to  stand,  and 
the  light  was  a  revelation  of  emptiness. 
Susan's  heart  was  cunning  to  reproach  her 
duke  for  the  difference  of  the  scene  she  beheld 
from  that  of  the  innocent  open-breasted  land. 


The  Tale  of  Cliloe.  137 

Yes,  it  was  dawn  in  a  wicked  place  that  she 
never  should  have  been  allowed  to  visit.  But 
where  was  he  whom  she  looked  for?  There! 
The  cloaked  figure  of  a  man  was  at  the  cor- 
ner of  the  street.  It  was  he.  Her  heart  froze; 
but  her  limbs  were  strung  to  throw  off  the 
house,  and  reach  the  air,  breathe,  and  (as  her 
thoughts  ran)  swoon,  well  protected.  To  her 
senses  the  house  was  a  house  on  fire,  and  cry- 
ing to  her  to  escape. 

Yet  she  stepped  deliberately,  to  be  sure- 
footed in  a  dusky  room;  she.  touched  along  the 
wall  and  came  to  the  door,  where  a  footstool 
nearly  tripped  her.  Here  her  touch  was  at 
fault,  for  though  she  knew  she  must  be  close 
by  the  door,  she  was  met  by  an  obstruction 
unlike  wood,  and  the  door  seemed  neither  shut 
nor  open.  She  could  not  find  the  handle; 
something  hung  over  it.  Thinking  coolly, 
she  fancied  the  thing  must  be  a  gown  or  dress- 
ing-gown; it  hung  heavily.  Her  fingers  were 
sensible  of  the  touch  of  silk;  she  distinguished 
a  depending  bulk,  and  she  felt  at  it  very  care- 


138  Tlie  Tale  of  Cldoe. 

fully  and  mechanically,  saying  within  herself, 
in  her  anxiety  to  pass  it  without  noise: 

**  If  1  should  wake  poor  Chloe,  of  all  peo- 
pled' 

Her  alarm  was  that  the  door  might  creaif. 

Before  any  other  alarm  had  struck  her 
brain,  the  hand  she  felt  with  was  in  a  palsy, 
her  mouth  gaped,  her  throat  thickened,  the 
dust-ball  rose  in  her  throat,  and  the  effort  to 
swallow  it  down  and  get  breath  kept  her  from 
acute  speculation  while  she  felt  again,  pinched, 
plucked  at  the  thing,  ready  to  laugh,  ready  to 
shriek.  Above  her  head,  all  on  one  side,  the 
thing  had  a  round  white  top.  Could  it  be  a 
hand  that  her  touch  had  slid  across?  An  arm 
too!  this  was  an  arm!  She  clutched  it,  im- 
agining that  it  clung  to  her.  She  pulled  it  to 
release  herself  from  it,  desperately  she  pulled, 
and  a  lump  descended,  and  a  flash  of  all  the 
torn  nerves  of  her  body  told  her  that  a  dead 
human  body  was  upon  her. 

At  a  quarter  to  four  o'clock  of  a  midsum- 


The  Tale  of  Chloe,  139 

mer  morning,  as  Mr.  Beamish  relates  of  his 
last  share  in  the  *'  Tale  of  Chloe,"  a  woman's 
voice,  in  piercing  notes  of  anguish,  rang  out 
three  shrieks  consecutively,  which  were  heard 
by  him  at  the  instant  of  his  quitting  his  front 
doorstep,  in  obedience  to  the  summons  of 
young  Mr.  Camwell,  delivered  ten  minutes 
previously,  with  great  urgency,  by  that  gentle- 
man's lackey.  On  his  reaching  the  street  of 
the  house  inhabited  by  Duchess  Susan,  he  per- 
ceived many  nightcapped  heads  at  windows, 
and  one  window  of  the  house  in  question  lifted 
but  vacant.  His  first  impression  accused  the 
pair  of  gentlemen,  whom  he  saw  bearing 
drawn  swords  in  no  friendly  attitude,  of  an 
ugly  brawl  that  had  probably  aSrighted  her 
grace,  or  her  personal  attendant,  a  woman 
capable  of  screaming,  for  he  was  well  assured 
that  it  could  not  have  been  Chloe,  the  least 
likely  of  her  sex  to  abandon  herself  to  the  use 
of  their  weapons  either  in  terror  or  in  jeop- 
ardy. The  antagonists  were  Mr.  Camwell 
and   Count   Caseldy.       On    his  approaching 


140  The  Tale  of  ClUoe, 

them,  Mr.  Camwell  sheathed  his  sword,  say- 
ing that  his  work  was  done.  Caseldy  was  con- 
vulsed with  wrath,  to  such  a  degree  as  to  make 
the  part  of  an  intermediary  perilous.  There 
had  been  passes  between  them,  and  Caseldy 
cried  aloud  that  he  would  have  his  enemy's 
blood.  The  night-watch  was  nowhere.  Soon, 
however,  certain  shopmen  and  their  appren- 
tices assisted  Mr.  Beamish  to  preserve  the 
peace,  despite  the  fury  of  Caseldy  and  the 
provocations — "not  easy  to  withstand,''  says 
the  chronicler— offered  by  him  to  young  Cam- 
well.     The  latter  said  to  Mr.  Beamish: 

**  I  know  1  should  be  no  match,  so  I  sent 
for  you,"  causing  his  friend  astonishment,  in- 
asmuch as  he  was  assured  of  the  youth's  natu- 
ral valor. 

Mr.  Beamish  was  about  to  deliver  an  allo- 
cution of  reproof  to  them  in  equal  shares,  be- 
ing entirely  unsuspicious  of  any  other  reason 
for  the  alarm  than  this  palpable  outbreak  of  a 
rivalry  that  he  would  have  inclined  to  attrib- 
ute to  the  charms  of  Chloe,  when  the  house- 


The  Tale  of  CUoe.  141 

door  swung  wide  for  them  to  enter,  and  the 
landlady  of  the  house,  holding  clasped  hand 
at  full  stretch,  implored  them  to  run  up  to 
the  poor  lady: 

**  Oh,  she's  dead;  she's  dead,  dead!*' 

Caseldy  rushed  past  her. 

''  How,  dead,  good  woman?''  Mr.  Beamish 
questioned  her  most  incredulously,  half -smiling. 

She  answered  among  her  moans: 

"  Dead  by  the  neck;  off  the  door—     Oh!" 

Young  Camwell  pressed  his  forehead,  with 
a  call  on  his  Maker's  name.  As  they  reached 
the  landing  upstairs,  Caseldy  came  out  of  the 
sitting-room. 

'*  Which?"  said  Camwell  to  the  speaking 
of  his  face. 

*'  She!"  said  the  other. 
•  "  The  duchess?"  Mr.  Beamish  exclaimed. 

But  Camwell  walked  into  the  room.  He 
had  nothing  to  ask  after  that  reply. 

The  figure  stretched  along  the  floor  was  cov- 
ered with  a  sheet.  The  young  man  fell  at  his 
length  beside  it,  and  his  face  was  downward. 


U2  The  Tale  of  Ghloe. 

Mr.  Beamish  relates: 

* '  To  this  day,  when  I  write  at  an  interval 
of  fifteen  years,  I  have  the  tragic  ague  of  that 
hour  in  my  blood,  and  I  behold  the  shrouded 
form  of  the  most  admirable  of  women,  whose 
heart  was  broken  by  a  faithless  man  ere  she 
devoted  her  wreck  of  life  to  arrest  one  weaker 
than  herself  on  the  descent  to  perdition. 
Therein  it  was  beneficently  granted  her  to  be 
of  the  service  she  prayed  to  be  through  her 
death.  She  died  to  save.  In  a  last  letter, 
found  upon  her  pin-cushion,  addressed  to  me 
under  seal  of  secrecy  toward  the  parties  prin- 
cipally concerned,  she  anticipates  the  whole 
confession  of  the  unhappy  duchess.  Nay,  she 
prophesies:  '  The  duchess  will  tell  you  truly 
she  has  had  enough  of  love.'  Those  actual 
words  were  reiterated  to  me  by  the  poor  lady 
daily  until  her  lord  arrived  to  head  the  funeral 
procession,  and  assist  in  nursing  back  the 
shattered  health  of  his  wife  to  a  state  that 
should  fit  her  for  traveling.  To  me,  at  least, 
she  was  constant  in  repeating,  *  No  more  of 


The  Tale  of  Chloe.  143 

love!'  By  her  behavior  to  her  duke.  I  can 
judge  her  to  have  been  sincere.  She  spoke  of 
feehiig  Chloe's  eyes  go  through  her  with  every 
word  of  hers  that  she  recollected.  Nor  was 
the  end  of  Chloe  less  efiective  upon  the  traitor. 
He  was  in  the  procession  to  her  grave.  He 
spoke  to  none.  There  is  a  line  of  the  verse 
bearing  the  superscription,  '  My  Reasons  for 
Dying/  that  shows  her  to  have  been  appre- 
hensive to  secure  the  safety  of  Mr.  Camwell: 

*  I  die  because  my  heart  is  dead; 
To  warn  a  soul  from  sin  I  die; 
I  die  that  blood  may  not  be  shed,*  etc. 

**  She  feared  he  would  be  somewhere  on  the 
road,  to  mar  the  fugitives,  and  she  knew  him, 
as  indeed  he  knew  himself,  no  match  for  one 
trained  in  the  foreign  tricks  of  steel,  ready 
though  he  was  to  dispute  the  traitor's  way. 
She  remembers  Mr.  Cam  well's  petition  for  the 
knotted  silken  string  in  her  request  that  it 
shall  be  cut  from  her  throat  and  given  to 
him." 

Mr.  Beamish  indulges  in  verses  above  the 


144  TJie  Tale  of  Cliloe, 

grave  of  Chloe.  They  are  of  a  character  to 
cool  emotion.  But  when  we  find  a  man  who 
is  commonly  of  the  quickest  susceptibility  to 
ridicule  as  well  as  to  what  is  befitting,  care- 
less of  exposure,  we  may  reflect  on  the  truth- 
fulness of  feeling  by  which  he  is  drawn  to  pass 
his  own  guard  and  come  forth  in  his  naked- 
ness; something  of  the  poet's  tongue  may 
breathe  to  us  through  his  mortal  stammering, 
even  if  we  have  to  acknowledge  that  a  quota- 
tion would  scatter  pathos. 


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